


All of Me

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Sex, Crying, Drowning, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fluff, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Solitary Confinement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 135,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: When Fenris learns he possesses magic, his life is forever changed.His friends support him, but can he cope with becoming his own greatest enemy?Salvation is just a mage away.





	1. Change

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story as a sort of symmetry with another of my stories. Anders lost his magic in My Better Half, so I gave Fenris magic in this one. They are not companion pieces, so you do not need to read one to understand the other. Each story stands alone. However, if you’ve read My Better Half, you’ll notice my head-canon for Anders’ unknown history is the same in both stories; so you might recognize a few parallels.
> 
> This story was a long time coming. I deal with some delicate subjects, requiring research, interviews, questions, revisions, and a lot of assessment. It’s only through the encouragement of many people this fic was possible. 
> 
> I give my undying thanks to: Andrastesknickerweasle, dreadpiratefluffy, and InquisitorLavellan88. These intrepid souls endured slogging through a vomit-draft to give me the stuff of life: feedback and reassurance. I cannot thank them enough for their help! (note: I didn’t ask them to beta this, so that’s on me :-D)  
> I also extend my thanks to the admins and members of FB DA groups; The Wonders of Thedas, Anders Support Group, and Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers. You’re all brilliant, funny, insightful, and amazing people!

A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Also, known as Fenris.

Everyone knew he had secrets he’d never tell. Everyone knew he had secrets he didn’t even know. But, no one had expected _this._ One day, it was life as usual. The next, everything changed.

It all began in the slaver caverns on the Wounded Coast. 

For all the ferocity of the fight, running-up against Danarius’ slavers hadn’t been unexpected. Even the copious use of blood magic hadn’t been unforeseen. That Fenris had killed Hadriana after she’d told him of his sister... well, who wouldn’t have expected that? 

And, honestly, no one was even surprised by his angry outburst at Hawke. 

“No! I don’t want you comforting me! You saw what was done here! There’s always going to be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her?’ What does magic touch, that it doesn’t spoil?” 

As though in answer to his question, blinding light flooded the cavern; a blast of energy threw everyone across the floor, and on their collective ass. An uncontrolled, chaotic storm of magic wreaked havoc in the cave. Arcane bolts careened wildly; ice formations grew and melted; long, lavender-hued tendrils of pure energy wound about the cavern. 

In the center of it all, stood Fenris. Back arched and arms flung wide, he seemed paralyzed by the force of magic exploding around him. Anders watched, transfixed by the spectacle. He’d seen plenty of magic in his time, but nothing to match this. 

Varric’s voice was barely audible above the din. “Looks like we missed a few!”

“Search the caverns!” Hawke shouted. As she moved to follow Varric, she called, “Anders, do what you can for him!”

Do what he could? He wasn’t even sure what was happening, let alone how to do anything about it. Shaking himself into action, he tried to dispel the storm of magic raging around the elf. His spell was negated in the maelstrom. Deciding it might be a glyph Fenris had stepped into, Anders tried physically removing him from the area. He couldn’t begin to penetrate the storm, let alone touch him. At which point, Hawke and Varric returned. 

“Nobody left,” Varric shouted. “What do you think?” 

“Maybe a glyph,” Anders shouted back. “I can’t get near him, magically or physically.” 

“Can he survive this?” Hawke shouted. 

“I hope so,” Anders replied. “It seems to be weakening.”

Indeed, the storm was dying. After several minutes, the last of the energy faded, and Fenris collapsed face-first toward the floor. Hawke caught him before he landed.

“Fenris... can you hear me?” 

The elf in question gasped for breath, body wracked with tremors from the strain he’d endured. Anders fumbled in his pouch for vials, and gently encouraged both a healing and stamina potion down his throat. 

Revived by the potions, Fenris struggled to sit up. 

“Fenris? Are you alright?” Hawke asked.

“I am fine,” he replied, shuddering. 

Varric shook his head. “You sure, Broody? You don’t look so hot.”

Fenris struggled to his feet, waving off assistance. “I do not need coddling,” he grumbled. “I... need to go.”

They watched him stagger toward the exit.

“That’s all he has to say?” Varric asked. “That elf is one tough customer.”

“One stubborn git, is more like it,” Anders said.

“If I know him at all, he’ll want to be alone,” Hawke said. “Let’s wait a few minutes, and follow at a distance.”

“Right,” Varric said. “If we trip over his collapsed carcass on the way home, we can drag him back to Kirkwall.”

They didn’t trip over him on the journey home. Somehow, Fenris managed to make it back to Kirkwall. Anders was once again consumed by the clinic, the Mage Underground, and his manifesto. He forgot all about the strange magical storm in the caverns. 

Until a week later, when he was pulled from sound sleep by relentless pounding at his door. Exhausted, he yanked the door open to find Bodahn wringing his hands. 

“Messere! Mistress Hawke sent me for you. There’s an emergency--”

If Hawke was in trouble, sleep was no matter. Anders flew through the clinic, throwing on clothes and gathering supplies. He followed the dwarf to a hidden door near the clinic, and up a secret passage, emerging in Hawke’s kitchen.

“Where is she?”

“Oh, it’s not Mistress Hawke. It’s her friend, the elf.”

They were out the front door, Bodahn setting a fast pace. As soon as Fenris’ mansion came into view, he knew what was wrong. 

Most of the windows in the building were boarded up or curtained, yet a bizarre light could be seen flickering through the drapes and under the doors. He glanced up, and saw tendrils of glowing mist escaping the chimneys. Even with such a prologue, even with what they’d experienced in the slaver caverns, what he found when Hawke let him through the door was unprecedented.

The entire mansion was filled with drifting, swirling, raw magical energy. Curling like lavender smoke, it was everywhere. His own magic vibrated in response, skin prickling. Small bursts of cold, snowflake-like crystallizations popped in and out of thin air. In the rafters and far corners, bolts of arcane energy drifted and gathered like thistledown. He hurried up the stairs to where Hawke stood, motioning for him. 

He’d been in Fenris’ home once or twice. He was a slob; books, bottles, broken glass, all littering his lair. He could hardly see any of it, for the thick lavender mist in the air. Arcane energy bolts randomly manifested and shot about the room, escaping through the door and slowing as they mired in the mist and ice-filled air. 

Fenris himself lay on the the bed, tense, gasping. The haze was thick around his slender frame. Sweated and pale, he looked like a man on the verge of collapse. 

With some reservation, Anders tried dispelling the magic. To his surprise, it worked. Throughout the room, the purple energy faded away, and ice dissipated. The gently lobbing bolts popped like bubbles.

Immediately, Fenris relaxed, breath easing.

“What happened?” Anders asked. He pulled a stamina potion from his pack, and helped the exhausted elf drink.

Swallowing, Fenris shook his head. “Same as the slaver caverns. I was unable to move. By the time it began to slow, I was too weak to get up.”

“I assumed it was a glyph, in the caverns,” Anders said. “Could someone have gotten in while you were gone, and placed another?”

“I’d been in bed for hours, mage. I could not have activated a glyph.” 

“It was just a thought. Did you have... company?” Anders asked.

Fenris sneered. “Not that it is any of your business, but no.”

“No need to get touchy. If not a glyph, then someone had to have been in the house, to cast a spell.”

“I checked for signs while waiting for you,” Hawke said. “Nothing. No tracks in the dust, no sign of forced entry. He was alone.”

Fenris sat up. “I know what it is. Hadriana placed a curse on me.”

Certainly, curses existed; more often on objects than people. But a true, ongoing curse such as this would be, wasn’t done by casting a spell. It called for a ceremony. Unless Hadriana had prepared a curse, ahead of time, she couldn’t have inflicted Fenris with one during the fight. Although... perhaps she had done just that, prior to their arrival. In the absence of any other answers, he accepted the elf’s explanation. 

Three days later, Varric was at the clinic, wading in through a family heading out. 

“Blondie... we got a problem.”

“Just the one? That’s refreshing.”

“Broody’s in a fix....”

“Needs healing?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then, find Hawke. She actually likes the grump.”

“Hawke’s the one who sent me. It’s a magic sort of thing.”

“A magic--?” Comprehension dawned. “You’re kidding. Again?”

“Better hurry. He’s at my place. People are gonna notice, soon.”

Anders questioned Varric as they made their way to Lowtown. “How did it happen?”

“We were playing cards when it just... started. Like in the slaver caverns, but not as violent. Still knocked Hawke and I off our seats.”

“Did you check for mages in adjoining rooms, or outside the windows?”

“First thing, Blondie; Hawke and I, both. Nothing. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

As Varric predicted, people in the tavern were beginning to notice. Small wisps of pure, lavender energy seeped around the edges of the door, and the ricochet of bolts colliding could be heard downstairs. As soon as he was through Varric’s door, Anders dispelled the magic. Fenris seemed none the worse for the wear, though he looked entirely vexed.

“This is definitely no spell or glyph,” Anders said. “This is something else, altogether.”

Fenris sneered. “I told you what it is. Hadriana has cursed me.”

“You know, I just don’t think that’s likely.” 

“Do you have a better explanation?”

Before he could reply, a burst of magical energy threw Fenris backward. He flew into Hawke and Varric, who caught him as all three stumbled into the wall. Anders dispelled the magic, again. 

“Damn, that was fast,” Varric said.

“Can you do anything about it?” Hawke asked.

“I don’t even know what it is. I could do a diagnostic; see if anything shows up. It’s not likely, but I don’t have anything else to offer.”

“Good idea. Fenris?”

The elf frowned.

“Fine. Mind the magic you use, mage. I am not your test subject.”

“And, you mind those gauntlets. I am not your enemy.”

Anders really didn’t expect to find anything, but at this point, he had no other ideas. He first felt the energy of the lyrium markings; familiar after years of healing Fenris in battle. Beyond that, he sensed another energy. Erratic and unfocused, it was swarming the elf’s system.

It seemed relatively benign. Nothing about it felt dark, or demonic, or accursed. It was wild and uncontrolled, but certainly not sinister. In fact, it felt familiar. He’d encountered such chaotic energy many times before; in young mages, newly brought to the Circle, who had yet to learn control.

It was magical energy. _Magic._ What in the world was magical energy doing in Fenris’ system? Could the lyrium markings somehow have drawn it to him? Perhaps during the--

His train of thought was interrupted by another energy within the elf. An energy he couldn’t begin to explain. 

“That can’t be right,” he muttered. 

“What is it?” Hawke asked.

“Say it, mage,” Fenris growled.

“I... need to try something first; just to be sure.”

With a simple spell, he had his answer. Which only served to confuse him more. But, at least his findings were confirmed. 

“Mage... I’m not asking you, again.”

“You have mana.”

The room went silent. 

Varric spoke first. 

“You’ve got to be shitting us.”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Fenris growled. 

“Say that again, Anders?” Hawke asked with disbelief.

“Mana. The pool from which every mage fuels their magic. That which allows one to draw power from the Fade. _Mana.”_

“But, that’s impossible,” Hawke said.

“Precisely,” Fenris scowled.

“I know what I felt, people. He has mana. I even cast a spell to drain mana. And, guess what? His mana drained.”

“You do realize what you’re you saying?” Hawke asked.

“I know exactly what I’m saying. I’m as confused as you, but the facts speak for themselves. Only mages have mana. Fenris has mana. Ergo, Fenris is a mage.”

“Bullshit,” Varric said.

“Exactly,” Fenris agreed.

“Don’t take my word for it,” Anders said. “Go ask a templar. Even a bad one would feel what I do. And would proceed to drag your mana-filled ass straight to the Gallows.”

“There has to be another explanation,” Hawke said. “He couldn’t just suddenly become a mage, Anders.”

“Hey, I’m only reporting what I found. Don’t look at me for an explanation.”

“Come on, Blondie. A mage?”

Anders sighed. “Look, it’s simple math: man plus mana plus magic... equals mage. I don’t make the rules.”

His words fell on disbelieving ears. Fenris hotly denied it could be true, and both Hawke and Varric were reluctant to believe it was possible. Anders supposed he couldn’t blame them. Fenris was a full grown man, after all, and mages manifest their powers as children. Yet, the simple facts could not be denied.

“Anders... it’s not that I doubt your findings; but the fact is, he’s an adult. And, he didn’t have this problem until he confronted Hadriana. Maybe there’s something to his theory of a curse.”

Anders sighed. Hawke had a point. Although he was certain it wasn’t a curse, it _had_ begun with Hadriana. It couldn’t hurt to look into it more fully. 

“Did you find anything on her after the fight? An amulet, or something?”

“Besides coin and the like, not much.” Hawke said.

Varric rifled through his box of stores, pulling out a satchel. “Here. I haven’t gotten around to pawning it off, yet.”

Dumping the contents on the table, they leaned in for a look. Imperial coin, a few jewels, and a leather collar. With a glance at the meager pile, Fenris began pacing the room.

“Why a dog collar?” Hawke wondered.

Fenris sneered. “It is not for a dog. It’s a slave collar.”

“Shit,” Varric breathed. “Damn, Broody.” 

Anders knew what Varric meant. Seeing the collar somehow made his slavery more real, more tangible. He sifted through the items, feeling for magical energy. Picking up the collar, he gasped in surprise. 

“Find something, Blondie?”

“Is it the source of magic?” Hawke asked.

“It’s magical, yes, but it’s not the cause of Fenris’ mana.”

He examined the collar with its simple buckle. It was finely cured, dark leather, about two finger-widths wide. Indeed, when he brought the ends together, it looked as though it would fit the slender neck of an elf. Further inspection revealed runic lettering burned into the inner surface of the leather. 

“Can you read it?” Hawke asked.

Anders shook his head. “I’m not familiar with these symbols. But, I don’t need to read it. My mana’s draining, just holding it. It’s some kind of suppression collar.”

Fenris turned to him with a deep frown. “A what?”

“A magic suppression collar. It drains mana. Why would Danarius put you in this?”

“It was likely a collar that was handy. I wore another like it, as his slave.”

“That’s a pretty powerful item to just have laying around,” Anders said. 

“But Anders, if he’d worn it to suppress his magic, why didn’t he manifest power as soon as it was removed?” Hawke asked.

Fenris’ eyes lit up. “Yes. Why, indeed? I did not begin to have this... affliction... until after Hadriana appeared. It is a curse. Nothing more.”

“That’s a hell of a curse. Giving you mana? That’s impossible! And, why would she bring the collar with her--”

“I am through with this. You’ve stopped the curse’s effect. I am going home.”

“It’s not a curse, you obstinate git! All I did was drain your mana. It’ll regenerate, and you’ll be right back where you started.”

“You are wrong. It is over.” With that, he turned and left.

“Blondie, just how sure are you about this?” Varric asked.

“Varric, the facts are indisputable. He’s got mana, which means he’s a mage.”

“And, you’re thinking he’s been one, all along,” Hawke said. “But, it was somehow hidden?”

“Come on, Hawke, you can’t believe this is a curse. I don’t know how, or why, but his powers were suppressed, and now they’ve been released. And, they’re running amuck.” He handed her the collar. “Better keep that, just in case.”

Varric sighed, shaking his head. “Well, if you’re right, I predict a shit-storm of hitherto unknown magnitude.”


	2. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is neck-deep in denial.

The predicted storm was slow in arriving. Anders’ warning that Fenris’ magical energy would manifest again, proved true. After his mana had been drained the first time, it seemed to take the violent edge off. Even so, Fenris didn’t manifest as young mages would, with small fires or snowflakes. He had bold, energetic chaos erupt around him. Again, and again, and again. At least once a day, he found himself at the center of arcane bolts, ice, and misty, lavender haze. 

At least once a day, Anders found himself summoned from his clinic, his bed, or other activities; to drain the beset elf’s mana. The beset elf who did not seem to appreciate his own situation, nor Anders’ inconvenience at being dragged to his rescue. In fact, he was certain Anders was failing to do what needed to be done.

“Why do you not simply dispel the curse?” Fenris demanded.

Anders sighed. He’d been over and over this. “Because, it’s not a curse. It’s your own magic. The only thing that’s going to stop these eruptions is learning to control it. Or, barring that, putting on the collar.”

The suggestion was met with a snarl. For an instant, Anders thought Fenris was actually going to bite him.

“I will never wear that collar, mage, however much you might like to lock it about my neck.”

 _“What?_ Okay, first... it doesn’t even lock. Second... I don’t really care what you do. I just don’t appreciate the attitude when I’m being just as inconvenienced as you. If you’re so damn sure it’s a curse, waltz on up to the Gallows and ask for help with a magical affliction. See what they say.”

Hawke’s gentle voice spoke. “Anders... don’t antagonize him.”

“Me? Antagonize _him?_ If he’d just face the facts--”

Fenris sneered. “It is you who refuses to face the facts. This is obviously a curse, laid on me by Hadriana. You continue with your ridiculous charade, laughing at my expense, rather than addressing the true problem.” 

Indignant disbelief filled Anders. “After all the times I’ve healed you... all the times I’ve saved your mage-hating ass... you accuse me of deliberately leaving you in distress? For my own amusement?”

“I spoke clearly, mage.”

Anders threw up his hands. “That’s it. I’m done. Find another mage to drag out of bed at all hours.” He strode for the door, angrier than he’d been in some time. He wondered that Justice wasn’t rearing his head.

“Anders!” Hawke called. “Please... you’re both being a bit--”

He swung around to face her. “No. I’ve taken enough abuse from him on behalf of all mages. He’s too damn stubborn and closed-minded to listen to logic. He doesn’t like my help, he’s on his own.”

“Let him go, Hawke,” Fenris said. “I don’t need the help of a mage who consorts with demons.”

“There you go. I’m gone. Good-bloody-luck.” 

Anders slammed the door behind him. How dare he impugn his integrity? He did not make a habit of leaving people in distress; not even that blasted elf. Hawke could drag Merrill out of the Alienage to drain the broody bastard’s mana.

For a while after that, he saw little of Hawke and the crew. A respiratory infection struck Darktown, and he was busy treating those who actually wanted his help. Fortunately, it was relatively mild. And, as with all epidemics in the Undercity, it had the welcome side-effect of decreasing templar searches, for a time. 

Then, one morning, as he prepared the clinic for the day, Hawke showed up at his door. 

“Anders, do you have some time?”

“For you, Hawke? Always.”

“It’s about Fenris.”

“I just remembered, I’ve got a full day.”

“Please, just listen a moment. I want some advice.”

“You want my advice? Steer clear of him. He’s going to get himself killed, and possibly you, with him.”

“I have to help him... just as I’ve helped you, in the past.”

Anders sighed. “Fine. Play the guilt-card. What do you want to know?”

“Well... things aren’t going well. He’s still having these episodes. Merrill’s draining his mana, but he’s worse to her than he was to you. She leaves in tears.”

“Because he’s a mean, angry git.”

“Because he’s got every reason to distrust mages and magic, and now he’s at their mercy once again.”

“Hawke, he’s let one bad experience color his entire world.”

“If you knew him like I do, maybe you’d see this from his point of view.”

“Maybe you could try to see it from mine.”

“From your point of view, if he’s a mage, shouldn’t you want to help him? Isn’t that what you and Justice do?”

He put his head in his hands. “Oh, Maker, you’re playing every card in your deck, aren’t you? Hawke, I have all the sympathy in the world for a new mage struggling with their magic. I’d do anything I could to help them get the training they need. Thing is, he doesn’t believe he’s a mage. I can’t help someone who won’t help himself.”

“I think it’s the source, Anders. He just doesn’t like you.”

“Yeah, it’s mutual. And, whether or not he likes me, doesn’t change what he is.”

“Merrill’s told him the same thing you have; that he’s got mana, and magical energy. But, he doesn’t trust her impression any more than yours.”

“You’re running out of cards, Hawke. I’m not feeling moved.”

She sighed, and the desolate sound softened him. “Look... if you can get him to come to terms with the fact this is stemming from himself, and not some curse... I promise I’ll move mountains to find him the best help I can.”

“How sure are you?”

“I’d bet my life on it. He’s got mana, for Maker’s sake. You know what he is, as well as I do.”

“I know... I know. You have to understand what it will do to him to admit he’s a mage.”

“He has to understand what it will do to him to end up in the Gallows.”

With a heavy sigh, she nodded. “I wish Bethany was here.” 

“We all do, Hawke. She was a kind, sweet girl.”

“Fenris actually liked her. He was always respectful toward her. She might have been able to give him advice he’d follow.”

“Maybe,” Anders said. “Unfortunately, it might take the templars showing up at his door to make him see the truth.”

Hawke suddenly brightened. “Templars! You said they could sense he was a mage?”

“Right. Why?”

“I have an idea. You’ll see.”

Which was how Anders found himself sitting across from a scowling elf in Hawke’s parlor a few days later. He’d brought two draughts of lyrium potion, per her request, and sat wondering just what she had in mind. He didn’t have to wait long.

When a visitor came to the door, he recognized the rasping voice before he saw the haggard face of the disgraced templar.

“You got the blue?”

Hawke escorted Samson in, and nodded at Anders. He handed over the lyrium vials. After a generous sip, Samson’s wan face suddenly looked healthier; his eyes cleared, and his voice strengthened.

“What’s the favor, then?” he asked.

“Can you tell me if either of these men is a mage?” 

All three men looked at her in surprise. With a shrug, Samson appraised them both, approaching first Anders, and then Fenris. He frowned at the elf. 

“Those tattoos are lyrium, eh? Never heard of the like.” He stood uncomfortably close for a moment, before nodding; then turned to Hawke.

“Was that a trick question? They’re both mages.”

“You’re sure?” Hawke asked.

“Sure, I’m sure.” He gestured toward Anders. “He more or less looks the part, and his magic’s easy enough to suss-out. The elf’s a different story. Those tattoos muddle his magical energy, but it’s there. They looking for a way out of the city?”

Anders snorted. He knew how Samson’s last attempt to aide escaped mages had gone.

“No,” Hawke said. “Have you ever heard of a spell or curse that could mimic mana in a person?”

Sampson scoffed. “Not likely. Mana happens, or it don’t. You got it, you’re a mage. You don’t, you’re not.”

Once Samson left, Fenris made his opinion known.

“This proves nothing,” he said. “He’d say anything for a dose of his addiction.”

“Fenris, he wasn’t asked until he’d already gotten the lyrium. He had nothing to lose.”

“Then, his debility caused him to misinterpret what he sensed. I am not a mage, Hawke. I have never been a mage, and I will never be a mage. A real templar would have sensed that.”

“Just how deep in denial are you?” Anders asked incredulously. 

“How deep in your own delusions are you?” Fenris shot back.

“Both of you...” she sighed. “Let’s just wait for our next guest.”

The next visitor’s appearance made Anders uneasy. In full uniform, Ser Thrask was a man with all the rights and responsibilities of any templar. That he’d shown sympathy for mages in the past was no guarantee he’d extend the same, now. 

Fenris took a few steps back, face wan. Anders sensed he knew the jig was up. He almost felt sorry for him, losing his grip on the fantasy he’d constructed. 

“Ser Thrask,” Hawke said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Serrah Hawke,” he nodded. “It’s no trouble. You live very near the Chantry. I go each day to say prayers for Olivia.” 

Thrask’s brows drew together as he scanned the room, glancing first at Anders, then frowning at Fenris. 

“How can I be of assistance, Serrah?”

“This may seem odd, but... can you tell me if any mages are in the room?”

“I can, certainly,” he replied, looking mildly nonplussed. He leveled his gaze at Anders, who glared defiantly back. “You are a bold face known in Kirkwall, an apostate who dresses the part. Your companion, however....”

Ser Thrask closed the distance to Fenris, frowning as Samson had. “I sense... lyrium? It masks the underlying energy, but does not conceal it. You are clearly a mage, as well.”

He turned to Hawke. “I would never cast aspersions on your choice of companions, Serrah. Yet, comporting yourself so openly with apostates may ultimately cause you grief. Not all in the Order are as understanding as I.”

Anders glanced at Fenris. The elf looked like he was going to be sick.

“I wondered, Ser Thrask,” Hawke began. “Could his magic have been... _given_ to him? With a spell or curse, perhaps?” 

Thrask looked flummoxed, and cast his glance between Fenris and Hawke. “Erm... no, Serrah. Has he told you such a tale? Mages are born, not made.”

“His magic only manifested recently.”

Thrask looked confused. “That’s... unprecedented. Magic evolves in childhood.”

“Exactly,” Fenris said. “I am not a mage.”

Thrask’s expression was uncompromising. “Oh, you _are_ a mage. The only mystery is how you managed to hide your magic so long.”

Anders wanted to jump and shout with vindication. He couldn’t believe he was on the same side as a bloody templar.

“Serrah Hawke, you know where my sympathies lie. You know the secret of my daughter, may she walk at the Maker’s side. I must warn you, hiding a mage’s power is not easy. It’s possible, but....”

“My sister was a mage. We kept her from the Circle her entire life. We’ll figure-out what to do.”

“Then, I wish you luck. This visit was purely social, you understand? I have seen only yourself, a figure in the corner, and an elf dressed as a warrior.” 

“Understood. Thank you, Ser Thrask. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your visit.”

When he’d gone, the room was almost forbiddingly silent. Fenris stood, unmoving. After a few moments, Hawke tentatively broke the silence.

“Fenris... I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “I didn’t do this to hurt you. At least now, you can--”

She was cut-off by a flare of lyrium and cry of rage. Fenris whipped his blade from his back, hurling it across the room.

Another cry ripped from his throat, a pulse of energy staggering both Hawke and Anders.

_“THIS CANNOT BE!”_

“Fenris....”

His voice was raw. “Why?? Why this? What have I done to deserve _this?”_

“Nothing,” Anders replied. “No mage asks for this.”

Fenris whirled on him, taloned finger pointing. “You love your magic. You think it is harmless. You play with demons without pause. Do not advise me in this, _abomination.”_

Anders stepped forward, speaking succinctly. “I am your best friend, right now. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.”

“You? My friend? You are the last person whom I would call _friend.”_

Hawke approached the fuming elf, and lay a hand on his arm. His lyrium flared as he shrugged her off. 

“Fenris, please. Let’s talk about this calmly. This isn’t the end of the world. We can--”

“Hawke, you’re wrong. It _is_ the end of his world,” Anders said.

“Anders!” she hissed.

“It’s the end of the world as he knows it. His life will never be the same, and you can’t tell him it will be.”

“My father and Bethany lived normal lives, outside the Circle.”

“No, they didn’t. It’s the only life you knew, so you didn’t realize just how not normal it was. His life is in danger now, more than it ever was by the slavers seeking him.”

Fenris sneered. “You have no idea what dangers I face if recaptured by Danarius. No idea what I’ve already suffered under his control. Do not think to frighten me with tales of a mage’s woe.”

“You have no idea what dangers you face if captured by the templars,” Anders countered. “The injustices heaped upon those in Circles--”

“Enough! I’ll listen to no more of your prattling about mage injustice.”

“You’d better listen to it, or you may end up living it!”

“It couldn’t be worse than living with your whining. You have no conception of what greater horrors exist. I do not fear death or Tranquility. I know far worse fates. Do you know my greatest horror? _This._ Knowing I am no different than Danarius and Hadriana.” 

“You are not like them,” Hawke said, firmly. “You could never be like them.”

Fenris seemed to crumple within himself. “Hawke, I’m at the mercy of this power as surely as I was at the mercy of theirs.”

“You’re not,” she insisted. “You can learn to control it.”

Fenris suddenly strode toward Anders. Startled, he backpedaled, stumbling into the settee. His hands instinctively covered his heart.

Fenris stopped before him, arms outstretched.

“You’re a healer,” he said, voice cracking. “Take it. Get it out of me!”

Any vindication Anders felt at being proven right, melted in the face of this impassioned plea.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Fenris dropped to his knees, eyes filled with despair. “Please. Use your demon, if you must... just get it out of me!”

Anders was deeply moved, yet there was nothing he could do. “I can’t. Believe me, if I could, I would. But, magic isn’t a disease. It’s part of you--”

Fenris was back on his feet, snarl back on his face. “It’s a cancer! All my life, I was controlled and tortured by magic... now it’s infested me!”

“I can find someone to work with you... a mage who can help you control--”

“Do you think I’d let such a person near me? Half the mages in this town are blood mages--”

“You have no idea--”

Hawke interrupted. “If you don’t want learn to work with your magic, Fenris, you can contain it, again. Wear the collar--” 

Fenris stepped back, dread clear. “Hawke. No.”

“It would solve everything. If you don’t manage it, you’ll be picked-up by the templars. And, I’m not going to lose you to the Circle.”

“Hawke, you don’t understand. I _cannot_ wear that thing.”

Hawke pulled the collar from her pouch, walking toward him. “I can help you with it. If you don’t feel you can do it yourself, I’ll do it for--”

In an instant, she was hurled across the room and against the far wall. With a sickening crack, she slid unconscious to the floor, leaving a broad smear of blood in her wake. 

“Hawke!” both men shouted. Anders rushed to her side, and cast healing magic over her. She came to, blinking in confusion.

“What in the Void...?” she mumbled.

Fenris’ horrified voice reached them. “Hawke.... I don’t know what....” 

Anders was pissed. “Dammit, you could have killed her!”

“Stop, Anders,” Hawke said, standing up. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not it was his fault.” He turned to the elf, trying to speak calmly. “You’re in shock, and I get that. But, you need to manage your accidental magic, before it gets any worse. And, it _will_ get worse.”

“Fenris... wear the collar, or work with a mage. Whatever you choose, we’ll help you, in any way we can.”

For a split second, Fenris stood with eyes wide. Then, he sprinted out the door.

Anders watched him go, anger fading. He’d run from his parents’ cottage in the same way, so many years ago. 

“Hawke... he can’t just ignore this. Templars know accidental magic when they see it. He’s in real danger.”

“I know. He just needs time to think. I’ll talk to him after he’s cooled-off.”

Cooling off apparently involved several bottles of wine, several times a day. For weeks, Fenris secluded himself in his mansion. Anders was once again draining his mana. Partly at Hawke’s impassioned request, and partly because he worried Merrill might try some blood magic “solution.” Each time Anders saw him, he was either sloppy drunk, or completely passed-out. Either way, he was in no condition to talk. Anders stayed only long enough to cast his spell, and leave a healing potion at the elf’s bedside.

After a fortnight of such seclusion, Fenris ventured back into the world. Anders had gone to the tavern to enjoy a mug of cider and game of cards. What he was got was a drunken elf. When Fenris arrived, he was well into his cups. Watching him stagger through the door, Anders wondered how he’d managed the walk from Hightown. He lurched his way to the table, stumbling over the bench to lean in lopsided inebriation against his shoulder. 

_"Maker’s breath._ Did you bathe in sweat and old wine?”

Fenris lifted his face to squint at the mage. “You know,” he slurred, “you should have lived in Tevinter. You... you’d be happier there.”

Anders tried elbowing him off his arm, to no avail. “You’re probably right.”

“There... your magic would be a... a mark of _honor._ Appren-tis-pissed to the right Magister, you would do well.” He picked up Isabela’s tankard and took a hefty swallow.

“Is there a down side?” Anders looked at his cards, throwing a couple coppers in the pot.

With a mighty blowing of his lips, Fenris waved the tankard. “Only if you’re bothered by owning a few slaves... and... and performing the occasional _blood ritual.”_

“So, they _all_ do those things?” Honestly, the entire empire couldn’t be knee-deep in demons and blood magic. Anders elbowed harder, finally succeeding in dislodging the elf.

Having lost his support, Fenris dropped his head onto his crossed arms. “Just the ones who don’t complain about how _powerless and persecuted_ they are.”

Anders shook his head. The elf was just as insufferable drunk as sober. Isabela had more sympathy, and gently stroked Fenris’ hair.

“Poor thing. So you have magic... so what? There’s nothing wrong with magic. It has lots of good uses. Lots of fun uses.”

“Being a mage isn’t fun,” he spat. “It’s dangerous. I’d rather be _anything_ than a mage.” 

“Well, at least you’re admitting to the mage part,” Anders said. “That’s a start.”

“C’mon, Blondie, cut him some slack,” Varric murmured. “Our sodden friend needs some time to adjust. Imagine what you’d be like if you lost your magic.”

“Losing my magic wouldn’t put the entire city at risk of accidents and demons, Varric. And, sooner or later, templars are going to nab him. Not even I want to see him with a big Tranquil brand on his forehead.”

“Don’t talk about me in front of me,” Fenris said, words muffled in his arms.

“I think you mean, _behind your back,_ Broody.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean.”

“Well, I think it’s wonderful you have magic,” Merrill piped up. 

Fenris sat up abruptly, losing his balance, and falling backward. Anders caught him before he toppled completely, and was roughly shaken-off. 

“Don’t touch me, you... demon-toting... _you._ And, don’t tell me this is wonderful... you blood... bleeding... _bleeder!”_

Varric gave a low whistle. “Listen to that silver tongue.”

“Don’t pick on him, Varric,” Hawke murmured. 

“Me? I meant it. _That’s_ dialogue.”

Fenris listed to the side again, this time against Isabela. “I sit surrounded by the worst mages can be, and you tell me... you tell me... what did they tell me?”

“That it’s time for bed, sweet thing. You’ve had a long day.”

Fenris hung his head. “I’m tired,” he whispered, “so tired.”

Varric stood, and hoisted him off the bench. “Come on, Broody. You can crash at my place, tonight.” 

Fenris protested, “I don’t want to sleep. Dreams come....”

Varric fanned away the elf’s breath. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. The fumes alone’ll keep ‘em away.”

The group watched as Varric guided the stumbling elf up the stairs and into his suite.

“He’s really taking this hard, isn’t he?” Isabela said, shaking her head.

“You have no idea,” Hawke said.

“Have you been able to talk to him?” Anders asked. 

“He hasn’t been sober enough to discuss it. I think he’s hoping it’ll all just go away.”

“It won’t.”

Varric rejoined the group. “He’s out cold. Man, is he messed up. I wish there was something we could do to help.”

“All we can do is stand by him,” Hawke said.

“Pretty soon, that won’t be enough,” Anders warned. “In time, the decision will be made for him, and he’ll find himself dragged to the Gallows.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hawke said. “We won’t let him end up in the Circle, anymore than we’d let you.” The rest of the group murmured agreement.

Anders sighed. Whatever his feelings toward the elf, he didn’t want to see it happen, either. Unfortunately, he’d seen a lot of things that he hadn’t wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to play with a blue Hawke; so she's a bit of a Mary Sue. ;-)


	3. Convictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris believes he has only one option.
> 
> And, it doesn't look good.

Fenris woke sick, painful, and confused. He was in a strange bed, with a blistering headache, and a mouth that tasted like the floor of a tavern. He sat up with a groan, then jolted painfully when a voice startled him.

“There’s a potion on the table next to you,” Varric mumbled from his pillow. “And a bucket on the floor, if you’re gonna heave.”

He picked up the potion, recognizing it as those which had shown-up on his bedside table. Downing it, his hangover disappeared with a belch. He was in Varric’s bed, in Varric’s room, at the Hanged Man. How he’d gotten there was beyond him. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thank Blondie. He left it for you.” The dwarf rolled over, and appraised him. “You look like crap, elf.”

“Then, I look better than I feel.”

“Look, I know you’re going through some serious shit. But, if drinking yourself to death is your plan; I gotta tell you, there are better ways.”

“I am not drinking myself to death.” 

“Could have fooled me. I’ve seen it happen, and you’re doing a fair impression. I just don’t want to sit at your bedside and watch you die a slow death. I really don’t.”

Fenris could hear the sincerity under Varric’s casual tone. He understood his mother had taken to drink after coming to the surface. He sighed.

“I am not trying to kill myself. I am trying....” he wasn’t sure how to finish.

“To forget what’s happening to you? To drink your problem into submission? I get it. And, it won’t work.”

“Then, what do you suggest, Varric?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell you how to deal with this. I don’t even know how to deal with this, myself. I mean, damn. You’re a mage. I did not see that coming. But, you’ve got friends. We’re with you, Broody, and we’ll help you, if you let us.”

Fenris respected the sentiment; but Varric’s words did little to change the situation. “I... appreciate it. But, there is nothing anyone can do. My fate is set.” He stood slowly, still a bit dizzy.

“Look, you know where to find me. If you need to talk... or, anything.”

“You’ve been a good friend, Varric.”

“You too, elf. A friend I don’t want to lose.”

 _I’m already lost,_ he thought.

He slowly made his way home. He shouldn’t have stayed out as long as he had. The magic would come upon him, at any moment. Perhaps he should have stayed with Varric. He sighed. It didn’t matter. Whether the templars found him shooting bolts in the streets, or whether he walked into the Gallows on his own, the Circle was where he was eventually bound. It’s where all mages should be. 

It was that belief which drove him to drink. Not hearing the templars’ words, and realizing it wasn’t a curse. Not learning he was kin to those he’d suffered under his entire life. As horrifying as it was to learn the truth of what he was, that wasn’t what he drank to avoid. 

He drank to forget his weakness.

The weakness that kept him from doing what must be done. The weakness that kept him from giving up his hard-won freedom. The weakness that prevented him going to the Circle. He should have left with Ser Thrask, the day he’d confirmed Anders’ findings. How often had he extolled his beliefs of mages and magic? How many times had he encouraged Bethany to go to the Circle? How often had he lamented the dangers of free mages? 

Yet, it was harder than he’d anticipated. And, by not going to the Gallows, he was a hypocrite to his own convictions. Here he remained... an apostate. He shuddered at the thought. He was weak. And, he despised his weakness.

His thoughts were interrupted by the crawling, buzzing sensation of magical energy building up inside. Instead of turning toward his mansion, he called on Hawke. She would send Bodahn for Anders, who would appear, wave his hand, and stop the madness for a too-brief period. He despised his dependency on the mage for this. 

Hawke was surprised to see him, but sent Bodahn for the mage without hesitation. He supposed it had been some time since she’d seen him sober. He kept his eyes lowered, shame at his recent behavior preventing him meeting her gaze. He gave short replies to whatever else she asked. He didn’t deserve her kindness and concern. Finally, as a patch of snowflakes began swirling about him, Anders arrived. Without a word, he drained his mana, ending the crawling sensation within and the snowfall without. Fenris stood to leave.

“Wait, Fenris.” Hawke said. He stopped, waiting. 

“Anders... isn’t there any way you could copy the collar’s runes onto something else? A belt, or bracer, or something?”

“It would take far more than copying the runes, Hawke. I’ve never even seen a device that drains mana. The collars and bracelets the Circles use, inhibit magic.”

“And, that’s different?”

“Very different. Inhibiting magic simply keeps it from being used--no spell casting, no accidental expression. That collar though... someone really knew what they were doing. For it to continually drain mana--without draining it completely and killing the wearer-- that’s not something I could begin to replicate. Even the creation of inhibitors is a closely guarded secret.”

“Could we find a magic inhibitor, then? Something other than a collar?”

Anders shrugged. “The Gallows probably has something. I can’t promise anything, but I might be able to get one through one of my contacts. ”

Fenris felt a brief surge of hope. Then, he sighed.

“It wouldn’t matter, in the end. I would still be... what I am.”

“The word is _mage,”_ Anders said. “And, it’s not a profane term.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’m speaking for both of us.”

Hawke interrupted, eyes glowing. “What do you think, Fenris? Are you at least willing to try it, if it’s not a collar?”

There was no guarantee they could acquire such an item. But, if they did... perhaps he could wear it, just for a little while. Use the time it allowed to come to peace with his fate. Then, when he’d accepted giving up his freedom, he could enter the Circle. With a sigh, he nodded.

Hawke clapped her hands together. Fenris thought Anders looked strangely relieved. The mage spoke. 

“No time like the present. Let’s head to the Gallows courtyard.” He eyed Fenris. "You’d better come, too. If we luck into something, we’ll need to test it on you.”

As usual, the courtyard was crowded with templars, Tranquil, and mages. The Gallows itself was immense, looming over them. He’d never been inside, but he understood hundreds of mages were housed there. He craned his neck, looking up at the towers. A prison, it had been. It certainly looked it. He tried to imagine living there... locked away... his freedom gone. He didn’t wish to lose his freedom... but, what choice did he have? Mages belong in Circles, for the good of everyone.

He trailed behind Anders as he whispered with various mages. While he went about his search, Fenris watched the Tranquil at their shops. They seemed... content. Anders and Bethany had both said Tranquility was a fate worse than death. Yet, how would they know? They had never been Tranquil. 

“Please do not steal the merchandise,” one proprietor said. “I will be beaten if you do.” 

He started in surprise. Tranquil were beaten? Why? They did not act carelessly, nor disobey orders. And, if theft occurred, it was not the shopkeeper’s fault. Anders was moving off, and he followed. They passed a pair of conversing mages.

“I heard Ser Alrik place the order for me to be made Tranquil,” one said. “I passed my Harrowing! He can’t do that!”

He tugged Anders’ sleeve. He turned to him in surprise. “That mage... she said she should not be made Tranquil, because she’d passed her Harrowing.”

“That’s Chantry law, yes.”

“Yet, this Alrik is ordering her to undergo the Rite.”

Anders frowned. “Alrik is a name that arises more and more, lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been making a reputation for himself with the Knight Commander. He’s a proponent of harsh treatment. Mages say he’s quick with a fist or whip, and quicker with the Tranquil brand. He’s the one who did the ritual on Karl.”

“Why is this treatment allowed?”

“Because no one bloody cares, that’s why. The Chantry turns a blind eye. Maker’s breath. I’ve been talking about this for years. Have you heard none of what I’ve said?”

“I... no. Not really.”

“Well, hear it now. The Circle is corrupt, and the mages are its helpless victims. Templars are out of control, and no one does anything to manage the crimes occurring within the Gallows walls. Oh... there’s my contact. Stay back a bit, he’s skittish about strangers.”

Fenris thought about what he’d overheard, and what Anders had said. It was disturbing... yet, it changed nothing. There was still no other option, for him. He would simply have to be compliant, when he submitted himself to the Circle. It’s not as though he hadn’t lived with threat of punishment and death, before. He just hadn’t expected to, again. 

“You alright, Fenris?” Hawke was beside him.

“No.”

“You don’t have to....”

Anders joined them. “No luck. Apparently, the Gallows no longer uses suppressants. The Knight Commander is happy to have mages act-out. Gives them an excuse to make them Tranquil, or execute them.”

Fenris shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I... am grateful for your effort.” 

It really didn’t matter. Perhaps it was for the best. He had put it off too long as it was. He would take the next few days to put his affairs in order, bid his friends farewell, and enter the Gallows.

It was none too soon, either. The manifestations of magic were increasing at an exponential rate. Several times a day, now, he rushed to Hawke’s estate when he felt it begin. He couldn’t risk being out, unless Anders was with him, and that was a rarity. 

After a few days of being awakened in the night, or dragged from his clinic several times a day, Anders expressed concern to Fenris.

“This isn’t normal, you know.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Are you? I know you lived surrounded by mages, but have you ever seen such insistent accidental magic? Have you, Hawke?”

“I was never near child mages. I have no idea.”

“Bethany only had it every couple of days, by the time she learned to control it. And, not as strongly; just a small flame here or there.” Hawke said. 

“I was the same way. And, if Fenris was a child, I’d expect a frozen houseplant or snowfall in the dining room. But, this... I believe it’s for two reasons. First, when kids manifest, they don’t have their full complement of magical energy and mana. Fenris is a full grown mage--”

“Don’t call me that.”

“--whose fully developed magical energy was dampened for years. Now it’s building up, again, so his manifestations are more frequent, and more powerful, than a child’s.

“But, there may be a second reason. Remember that time in his mansion, when raw magical energy filled the house? Normally, magic can only flow unchecked for a short while, and then mana is depleted. But, his mana didn’t run out; so magical energy just kept overflowing, until it physically exhausted him.”

“Is it because of the lyrium in his markings?” Hawke asked.

“That’s my theory.” He turned to Fenris. “My spell causes a sudden, substantial drop in your mana. But, with the slower drain of magical energy, the lyrium in your body keeps your mana from running down.”

Fenris tried to take it all in. It wasn’t difficult to understand. It was simply so difficult to believe this conversation was about _him._ That _he_ was the mage with overflowing magic. He felt mildly ill.

“Your magical energy is nearly back to it’s full potential,” Anders continued. “If you can't control it, you'll be in a state of permanent overflow.”

Fenris dropped his head in his hands. That’s it. It was time to go to the Circle. Anders continued.

“On the plus-side, you’ll be a force to reckon with, once you’ve got control of it.”

“I don’t wish to be a force to reckon with,” he spat. “I do not wish to possess this power. I feel filthy with it.” 

“Magic is what you make of it, you know.”

“I don’t wish to make _anything_ of it. I wish it to go away.”

Hawke spoke. “There’s always the collar....”

“No, Hawke. I will not wear it. You’re so clever with your theories, mage, tell me this: why did I not manifest magic in all this time without the collar?”

“I’ve been thinking about that too, actually,” Anders said. “Clearly, the collar wasn’t all that kept your magic at bay. Although creating an object that drains mana is unheard of in the South, draining mana with a spell is relatively simple. Even templars can learn to do it, for Maker’s sake.”

“Not Imperial templars. There are no such spells in Tevinter.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not. I don’t believe such spells are illegal, per se, but they are discussed with fear and disbelief.”

“Would Danarius even seek such a spell, if that’s the case?”

“Undoubtedly. It would give him a decided advantage.”

“In that case, my theory may be sound. Lyrium is used to store all manner of information. It’s what holds enchantments in runes. It even holds memories in the Orzammar Shaperate. This is just conjecture, but suppose Danarius was able to embed a mana-draining spell into the lyrium of your markings?”

Fenris felt a surge of hope, again. “He constantly cast spells on the markings. If this is the case, why would it suddenly stop working?”

“Remember, this is all conjecture--”

“Yes, yes. Just tell me.”

“Well, the more mages that participate in creating a spell or ceremony, the stronger the result. If Hadriana took part in such a spell, her death, at your hand, could have disrupted it.” 

“And, the collar?” 

“For just this contingency, I imagine. If one of them died, or the lyrium failed to hold the spell, the collar would keep your magic from manifesting.”

Fenris pinned the mage with his gaze. “Put it back.”

Anders looked confused. “The... collar? But, you said--”

“Not the collar! The spell! You understand how it works... put the spell back in the lyrium.”

He saw Anders’ astonishment; saw it mirrored in Hawke’s face.

“I wouldn’t begin to know how!” he exclaimed. “This is all just theory! And, your markings aren’t just lyrium, you have to know that. If they were, they’d have killed you by now. Who knows what meddling with them would do?”

Fenris slumped, again. Of course, the mage was right. Danarius alone knew the secrets to the markings. It had simply been his last hope.

Hawke’s voice broke in. “Why would Danarius hide Fenris’ magic? Wouldn’t he have taken advantage of it?”

Anders shrugged. “Search me why he wouldn’t want him to be a mage. He’d be a powerful one... maybe too powerful. Maybe Danarius feared he’d turn the tables on him.”

Fenris quailed inside. If Danarius had feared his power, he was more of a danger than he’d already believed. He sighed.

“Hawke. I cannot be allowed to continue this way. I am a danger, to everyone around me. Tomorrow I will go to the Gallows.”

There was shocked silence, then both exclaimed.

_"WHAT?”_

_"Are you insane?”_

“I am a mage. I belong in the Circle. As unpalatable as it may be, it is my only option. To do otherwise would make me a hypocrite of the highest caliber.”

“So, be a bloody hypocrite!” Anders said. “No mage would denounce you. You’ll never hear me speak of it!”

“They can teach me to control this magic, keep me from causing harm.”

“What they will do, is make you Tranquil,” Anders said.

“You don’t know this.”

“I do know this. You’re a full-grown mage, with no control of his magic, and an unending supply of lyrium. I don’t even know if the Rite would work on you; it’s based on lyrium, and you’re full of it. If they can’t make you Tranquil, they’ll execute you.”

“It’s a risk I must take.”

“The word _risk_ implies a chance of success. There’s no such chance in the Gallows.”

“Fenris,” Hawke pleaded, “please reconsider.”

“This should come as no surprise to either of you. You know my views on mages and magic.”

“Bugger your views,” Anders spat. “I can’t believe a man who’s fought so hard for his freedom would be willing to hand it over so easily.”

“Do not delude yourself into thinking this is easy.”

“You’ve stopped fighting!”

“And, why do you care? For the deplorable fact I’m a mage? I am not one of your pet apostates--”

“Please! Stop!” Hawke cried. “Fenris, you have something few mages ever get. You have choices. Why does the Gallows have to be your first one?”

“It’s not my first choice. It’s my only choice.”

Fenris’ resolve nearly wavered when he saw the tear escape down her cheek. “I’m sorry. But, you know me. You know I cannot make another choice.”

She brushed at her eyes and took a shuddering breath. She nodded. “I know.”

Anders watched them in disbelief. “What... you’re going to let him--?”

“He’s a free man, Anders. It’s his choice.”

“It’s the wrong choice.”

“But, it is mine to make,” Fenris said. “Hawke... will you come with me, when I go?”

She reached her hand to him. After the smallest hesitation, he took it in his. “Of course, I will.”

The last night in his own home was not restful. He fought the instinct to run. He fought the desire to drink himself into a stupor. He knew he might never see his friends again, yet, could not bring himself to say goodbye. The pain of all he was losing wracked him until he could hardly breathe.

When dawn came, Hawke was at his door, the mage at her heel.

“I thought Anders should be here, in case your magic manifested on the way over.”

“Right.”

“Fenris,” she whispered, “is there anything I can say to dissuade you?”

“No.” He cut a glance at Anders, who remained silent. He actually looked upset. 

Hawke turned to the mage. “What will happen, when he gets there?”

“They’ll strip and search him. They’ll be all over those markings. I don’t know how they’ll test them, but you better believe they will. Then, they’ll measure his magical energy and mana production. They’ll ask him to perform spells and test his arcane knowledge. If he gets through that alive, they’d normally assign him to a training level.”

“If he gets through it _alive?”_

“He nearly sent you through the wall when you approached him with the collar. How’s he going to react when a templar’s got his finger up his arse during the body search? He pulls a stunt like that, they’ll end him, right there.”

“Maker, Anders....” Hawke whispered.

Fenris clenched his jaw. But, he had once been accustomed to both physical, and magical, explorations. He was nauseated at the thought of living with it again, but he knew how to manage. The magic, however... he had no control over it. He had no idea how it would respond to such handling. Not that knowing changed anything.

“Let’s just go,” he said. 

The three were silent as they descended through the city to the docks. He felt both their eyes on him, but dared not meet their gaze. His resolve was not strong, and seeing their misgivings would weaken it further. The nausea twisted in his gut as the Gallows grew nearer, its shadow chilling him in the early morning air.

As they passed through the entry to the courtyard, Anders was suddenly in front of him, agony on his face.

“Please... don’t do this. You don’t know....”

“No.You don’t know.”

“I know you hate me. I know we’ve always been at odds. But, I don’t want you made Tranquil. I don’t want you to die at their hands for being what the Maker made you.”

The desperate appeal touched him. Anders was sincere. Before he could respond, someone cried out.

 _"ILLICIT?_ I love you!”

“I am Ser Alrik’s now,” replied a Tranquil voice. “He’s the only one who can command me.”

As the arguing pair passed by, Fenris frowned in confusion. “What did she mean? Tranquil are given to templars?”

Anders frowned, as well. “No. Ser Alrik’s probably taken a liking to her.”

“A liking?” He couldn’t mean what he thought he did. His stomach twisted tighter.

“Do you need it spelled-out for you?”

“Anders, don’t bait him,” Hawke said.

He looked past Fenris. “Come on. Maybe someone can give you first-hand information about what to expect.”

Approaching a small group of mages, the first woman Anders approached turned away. 

“Don’t talk to me,” she said, “The templars will give me thirty lashes if they see me speaking to a civilian.” 

Fenris exchanged looks with Hawke. They were beaten, for being approached by a civilian? He took a deep breath. He’d survived beatings, before. He could survive them, again.

He saw a mage speaking with Anders. Fenris recognized him as Alain, one of the Starkhaven mages they’d helped, years ago. Anders asked how he was doing in the Gallows. Alain answered in a quiet voice.

“Starkhaven was never like this. Templars beat us and no one says a thing.”

“Have you reported their treatment of you?” Hawke asked. “Surely, if the Chantry knew....”

Alain shook his head, anxiety clear on his face. “Ser Karras said if I tell anyone he’s been in my chambers, he’ll make me Tranquil.”

Hearing the boy’s words set-off a rush of overwhelming memories: Danarius, commands, Hadriana, punishments, hands, pain, violation, obeisance, degradation. Bits and pieces of a decade in slavery sped through his mind. The world spun, his vision spotted with black... and, the ground rushed up at him. 

He slowly returned to awareness.Voices heard through murky waters. A soft surface under his back.

“... not eaten in who-knows-how-long.” The mage.

“... can’t just let him go on like this....” Hawke.

As he blinked awake, he found himself looking into eyes the color of honey. Who had such eyes? 

“How do you feel?” Anders asked.

“What happened?” Fenris asked.

“You reached the end of your rope, is what. You blacked-out at the Gallows. We brought you back to Hawke’s.”

He struggled to sit up. 

“Seriously, how do you feel?”

“My head is dizzy and my gut is twisted.”

“I imagine. Orana’s making some soup. I strongly suggest you eat it. You’re on the bitter edge of collapse. Actually, you went over that edge, just a bit ago.”

“Not her father’s,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“No,” answered Hawke. “Its my mother’s recipe.”

He pieced together all that had happened at the Gallows, prior to blacking out. Hunger hadn’t been what sent him to the bricks. It was the realization of what he was walking into, of his own free will. And, hot on the heels of that, the realization he simply could not do it. He would not do it. Even stronger than his belief that mages belong in a Circle; was his belief he should never again be enslaved. And, while the Circle was _not_ slavery, it bore a close enough resemblance.

Hawke sat beside him.

“What are you thinking?” 

“I will not enter the Circle.” 

“Oh, blessed Andraste, be praised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe there's any mention of magic suppressant devices in canon. However, there _is_ mention that Tevinter has no mana draining spells. 
> 
> The mage and Tranquil comments Fenris overhears in the Gallows courtyard _are_ canon; taken straight from Act II.


	4. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris makes some decisions.
> 
> Anders wonders if he bit off more than he can chew.

Anders watched as Fenris ate the soup Orana served. He’d seen the moment in the Gallows when understanding hit him, and knew it was more than hunger that dropped him. Anders barely caught him before he kissed the flagstones. 

Hawke nearly swooned with relief. “I’m so glad you changed your mind.”

“I will not willingly enter a facsimile of slavery.” Fenris glanced toward Anders. “Do not wax triumphant, mage. The Circle is not slavery as I have known it; though it begs comparison.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” Anders shrugged. “Although, I did tell you so.”

“Anders...” Hawke sighed.

“No, Hawke. He did. He knows nothing of slavery, but he spoke of the Circle’s corruption.”

Anders was surprised by the admission. “Oh... well... thank you. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came to your senses.”

“That remains to be seen,” Fenris said. “Even I can see this magic is going to land me in the Gallows.”

“Well, what can we do?” Hawke asked Anders.

Fenris sighed. “Hawke, I know you mean well, but I will discuss my own situation.”

“I do apologize. I’m just not used to you being sober enough to converse.”

Fenris looked at her in surprise.

Anders snorted. “Ouch!”

“I... may have deserved that. I was not making constructive choices.” 

Hawke gave a gentle smirk, and he knew all was well.

“Look,” Anders said, “You made the right choice by not going to the Circle. Now, you need to choose what to do about your magic.”

“You have opinions on that, I assume?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Of course, you do.”

“I can always keep them to myself, with that attitude.”

Hawke sighed. “Can you two turn off the snot for just _one blessed minute,_ and have a civil conversation?”

“Snot?” Anders laughed.

“Oh, both of you, just shut-up and talk!”

Anders was flustered. “I’m... I’m not sure what to do... shut-up, or talk...?”

Fenris looked equally confused. 

Hawke threw up her hands.

“Fine, fine. So Fenris, I know you had your heart set on a Circle--”

“Anders....” Hawke warned.

“--and, there _are_ Circles that aren’t like the Gallows. Kinloch Hold wasn’t nearly as bad. I’ve heard Ostwick is pretty mellow. The Hossberg Circle is pretty much a Grey Warden recruitment center; they’re known for physical training as well as magical.”

“Yet, you do not wish me to enter a Circle.”

“No. I don’t wish any mage to enter a Circle. You, particularly. I honestly believe Tranquility is the best you could hope for.”

“Mages all proclaim Tranquility a fate worse than death. Yet, how can you truly know?”

“Karl knew. He came out of Tranquility long enough to ask me to kill him.”

He watched Fenris frown. Then, nod.

“And beyond that, even a decent Circle can go bad in an instant. A change of Knight Commander, a few corrupt templars. All it takes is the wrong person in power. And over it all, the same corrupt system which allows the Gallows to continue as it is, controls all the Circles.”

He watched Fenris frown again, clearly thinking this through. 

“What are the other options?”

“Barring the Circle, you have two. Option one; as an elf, it’s possible you could be accepted to train with a Dalish Keeper. The downside is finding a Dalish clan. They tend to make themselves scarce. The other downside, is they only allow three mages at a time in any clan.”

“The only clan we know of in the area is the Sabrae,” Hawke said. “They’ve got Feynriel, now. And, when we went for the _arulin’holm,_ Marethari asked if Merrill had given up her path and returned to them. It’s my impression the Keeper’s holding that spot in hopes Merrill will come back.”

“Good point.”

“What is the remaining option?” Fenris asked.

“Train with another apostate. There’s several in the area who might be able.”

“Have we met an apostate who didn’t practice blood magic, or attack us on sight?” Fenris asked.

“The kind of apostates I’d let teach you, keep a low profile. They just want to live and let live.”

“Would any of them be willing to train Fenris?”

“Possibly. Problem is, not all mages are created equal; it’ll have to be someone strong enough to handle Fenris’ lyrium-fueled powers. And, just as important... someone who can handle his mage-hating attitude. Talk about snot.”

“Anders, really. Was that necessary?” Hawke sighed.

“He is not entirely wrong, Hawke. I do not suffer fools. Fool mages, even less.” He frowned. “This does not sound like any options, at all.”

“It’s better than you had five minutes ago.” Anders rubbed his face tiredly. “Maker, I wish Karl was alive. He was brilliant, powerful, and patient.” 

“Well, why don’t you train him?” Hawke asked.

_“What?”_

“Who better? You understand the situation. You taught mages in the Circle, didn’t you?”

“Little kids! Not... like... _him.”_

“Why not? You’re able to handle his power--”

Fenris spoke up. “Hawke, you’re assuming I’d _let_ him teach me.”

“Why not? Would you honestly let your little squabbles prevent you learning what could save your life?”

“His demon is no little squabble.”

Anders groaned, irritably. “Justice isn’t a demon! Regardless, I don’t know if I could--” 

He broke off, feeling a strange discordance within himself. It was seldom he and Justice disagreed, and uncomfortable when it occurred. And, it was occurring. He felt an abrupt shift in his stance on the issue. Here was a man who’d escaped slavery, and fought for freedom; only to learn he was a mage, facing either imprisonment, Tranquility, or death. His only hope to remain free, was being trained. 

Anders looked at Fenris. He could be a complete bastard, and stood opposite Anders on most issues. But, he needed help Anders could provide. Even without Justice’s intervention, looking at the situation objectively, the answer was clear. He steeled himself, and spoke. 

“I’ll do it.”

Hawke grinned. “You will?”

Fenris clearly wasn’t as convinced.

“You think training at the hand of a man infested with demons is wise, Hawke?”

“It’s _one spirit,_ and he’s the one pushing for this,” Anders said. “Apparently, you’re in need of justice.”

“Hawke....”

“Fenris. When has Justice every done wrong by you? If he’s willing to have Anders teach you, then he obviously has your interests at heart.”

“What interests are those, exactly?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “He only has one interest, and that’s justice! Hence, the bloody name!”

Fenris glared, but it lacked the usual venom. “You believe yourself capable of teaching what I need to know?”

“I hated the Circle. But, make no mistake, I was well educated there. I helped train countless apprentices. I’ve got over a dozen years of healing experience; and refined my battle skills with the Wardens. You’re not going to find a better magical pedigree.”

Hawke and Anders watched Fenris weigh his few options. He didn’t have much choice, and Anders suspected he was convincing himself to accept the offer laid before him.

“Very well.”

“You’re kidding.” Anders was surprised. He’d been sincere in offering, but hadn’t really expected him to agree.

“Hear me, mage... I will not learn to _use_ this magic. I wish only to _control it._ I have no intention of _being_ a mage. Am I clear?”

“Got that off your chest? Good. Let me be clear. You _are_ a mage; no if’s, and’s, or but’s. Lack of spellcasting won’t change that. Also, learning to control it will require learning to use it. Magics which manifest are more easily managed if you learn to perform them deliberately."

“If you lead me wrong, you will suffer for it.”

Anders looked at him in disbelief. “Really? That's how you're starting this venture? Just how difficult do you intend to make this?”

“As difficult as you do.”

_“Andraste’s tits.”_

Hawke exhaled. “Alright. That’s settled... I think. Now... there’s something Anders and I were discussing while waiting for you to regain consciousness.”

Anders held up his hands. “I want it known, this wasn’t my idea.”

“Fenris... I worry about you living alone while you can’t control your magic. The odds of a templar catching you while you’re overflowing....”

“Or, you getting stuck at your place while your magic sucks the life from you....” Anders interjected.

“Would you be willing to stay in my guest room, until you can control it?”

Fenris consulted the empty soup bowl. Then, nodded. “I... agree. I will gather my belongings and bring them here.”

Anders was amazed at how easily he agreed... of course, it was Hawke. He seemed to respond better to her than anyone else.

“Well, now that’s settled, I’d better get back to the clinic. I’ll come by this evening to talk about training. My first instruction: eat. Magical energy is draining. You’ll need more than mana to perform well.”

\---------------------------------

Sitting in Hawke’s guest room, Anders found training Fenris was as easy as he’d expected. The elf was stubborn and irritable. He was, however, surprised how much Fenris already knew of magical theory.

“Your knowledge of mana, Fade energy, and lyrium is unexpected.”

“I lived among magisters. I overheard hundreds of conversations. Magic and power are their primary interests.”

“Ah... makes sense, then. I'm still going to give you the standard apprentice opening lecture.”

“I am not your apprentice.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “For the love of... I know that. I’m going to be teaching you the same way I taught apprentices, so you’ll hear the word, even if not applied to you. Where was I? Right. The Fade is the realm of spirits and demons, separated from the mortal world by the Veil. Most mortals enter the Fade in dreams, though mages can enter consciously with the aide of lyrium. 

“Mana is what allows mages draw power from the Fade. Using magic drains mana. If mana is drained too far, it can lead to disability, or even death; rather like losing too much blood. I’m not sure if that’s a problem you’ll encounter. So far, your mana hasn’t drained with use. Following me?”

“It’s hardly difficult.” 

“Can you drop the attitude, and just say _yes_ or _no?_ Thank you. Now.... Have you ever drunk lyrium potion?”

“No.”

“The lyrium in your markings never needs replenishing?”

“No.”

“How do they work, exactly?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, remaining silent. Anders realized he wasn’t answering, because it required more than a yes or no. He ground his teeth. How difficult would he be?

“Just... answer.”

“The teaching I agreed to does not include use of the markings. Stick to your business.”

“This _is_ my business. The lyrium in your markings affects your mana.”

Fenris sighed. “I do not know how they work. Danarius did not share their properties with me.”

“Didn’t you need to know how....”

“Get it through your skull. I was a slave. I needed only to follow commands. Knowledge was not necessary, nor given.”

“I didn’t mean to....”

“I cannot believe I am once again forced into magical dealings with a mage.”

“Hey, I'm not forcing you into anything. You chose this.”

“We are done for the evening.”

“Seriously? We’ve barely started.”

“You will keep your questions to the salient points, in the future.”

“Your lyrium bloody-well _is_ a salient point!”

“The door’s behind you.”

Biting back several retorts, Anders left the scowling elf on his bed. Hawke met him in the front room.

“How’d it go?”

“It barely began. He cut it short and kicked me out.”

“What was said, while you were there?”

“We went over mana, lyrium, the Fade... the usual. I asked about his markings, and how they worked. That’s when he went broody on me.”

“He told me the markings were agonizing to receive. And, he told Bethany they still hurt. It’s probably hard for him to talk about them.” 

Anders sighed. He certainly understood past pain. Yet, he had to be able to work with the elf. 

“I wasn’t asking to pry. I need to know all I can about them, or he and I could both get hurt manipulating his magic. I’m not sure this is going to work, Hawke.”

“You’ll come back, won’t you? You’re not giving up?”

“Yes, I’ll come back. It won’t be easy unless he gets over his resistance to learning.”

“Learning’s not the problem. I’ve been teaching him to read, and he seems to enjoy it. I think it’s the subject... and, the instructor.”

Anders shook his head. “Maybe you could talk to him?”

“I’ll try.”

Apparently, Hawke did try, because Fenris was more receptive, the next time around. Not enthusiastic, but willing. He sat facing Anders on the floor of the guest room, not meeting his gaze. He listened as he discussed the theories of magic, mana, and the Fade. But, when theory became practice, he balked.

“Don’t touch me,” he warned, glaring at Anders’ outstretched hands.

“I need to feel your magical energy.”

“I’ve had more than enough prodding with magic.”

He remembered what Hawke had said about the markings. “I won’t use magic. And, I’ll avoid the markings. I just want to feel your magic’s flow.”

“You can’t avoid them. But, you will not use magic.” It was more a statement than a question.

Fenris watched his hands warily as he laid them against his chest. His magic was relatively calm, his mana having been recently drained. He could sense its recovery... it was astonishingly fast. 

“Alright. Do you mind activating the lyrium?”

Without argument, Fenris’ markings flared. Anders felt a powerful surge of energy both within the elf, and a faint, reactive response from his own magic. And, beyond that, he heard what could only be described as the lyrium’s song. An answering surge welled up from within. Justice rose to the song, nearly rhapsodic. The spirit didn’t react this way to lyrium potions. Another indicator something was different about the markings. He removed his hands, and the glow faded.

“Does it hurt to use the markings?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does, to me. I won’t ask you to do what may cause unnecessary pain.”

Fenris frowned, looking at his hands. “It did in the beginning.”

“Do they do anything beyond phasing...?”

“Again, you are going beyond what is necessary to know.”

“No, I’m not. I need to know what the hell I’m working with.”

Fenris scowled, hesitating. “They allowed him to control me. He could... cause pain. He... did other things. And no, I don’t know what.” 

Anders nodded, but inside, empathy was stirring. He decided Fenris had divulged enough. 

“Your mana’s building-up. When your magic starts to manifest, I want you to try to feel it with your mind. Sometimes it helps to visualize your hands touching it. Most mages can sense a texture to their magic, a viscous quality. I’ll need to touch you again, to feel your progress.”

He could see him fighting his desire to refuse, yet he overcame it, and nodded.

Anders again lay hands on Fenris’ chest. He could feel it, alright; a mad cacophony of energy, spinning and spilling out of the elf. Purple light began to glow about him. 

“Can you feel it?”

“Yes. I don’t like it.”

“Can you imagine shaping it? As though trying to capture smoke in the circle of your hands?”

“I do not wish to touch it.”

Most new apprentices felt that way, at first.

“I understand. Try visualizing....”

“No. I do not wish to touch it.”

“You said you want to control it. How do you expect to do so, if you won’t work with it?”

“Just tell me what to do to keep it inside! All this visualization nonsense will do me no good.”

“This nonsense is what will teach you to keep it inside! Believe me, if I could give you a magic word to manage this, I’d have given it to you and gone back to my own life. I’m not having any more fun than you.”

“You cannot conceive of the disgust I feel for this... this... _putrescence._ I’d as soon clean the Darktown middens as touch this magic!”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to have your world upended by magic? I was once you. I was right where you are. Don’t give me any of that _I-don’t-understand_ shit. I wrote that book.”

“You were never me,” Fenris spat.

“Magic destroyed my life.”

The elf’s eyes widened, then narrowed with his scowl. 

“You love magic. You’ve made mages and magic your life’s work.”

“Eventually, I grew to find joy in magic, yes. But, it wasn’t always so. Before my powers manifested, my life was perfect. I had a family; I had friends; I ran free in the foothills. I was happy. I was loved. My whole life was ahead of me.

“Then, magic came, and templars behind it. I was ripped from my home and dragged to a lifetime of imprisonment. I didn’t even speak for six months after entering the Circle. So, don’t tell me I don’t understand.”

Fenris frowned at the floor, silent. Finally, he spoke. 

“Magic stole my past. The agony I endured during the lyrium ritual wiped my memory.”

“I know. I’m sorry for that.”

The elf shrugged. “I do not miss what I cannot recall. Yet, we share this loss of our lives at the hand of magic... and, you still cannot see the horror of it?”

“I eventually came realize my loss was caused by the Circle, not by magic. And, in your case, it was caused by a madman.”

Fenris grunted at the floor. 

Anders went for broke. “Look... you’ve got something most mages don’t. You have the chance to keep your life. Our friends know you’ve got magic, and they still accept you. They’ll protect you from the templars and Circle. You have the option of freedom.”

“As an _apostate.”_

“You know, I think you’re caught up in semantics. Try this... every time you say or think the word _apostate,_ substitute _free man_ in its place. That’s all an apostate is; a free person, who happens to have magic. Not a maleficar, not a magister, not an abomination. If you truly do not wish to be a free man, then you’ve been fighting the wrong battle.”

Fenris mulled this over, the wisps of magic growing around him.

“Do you want me to drain your mana? Or, would like to try again?”

“I... will try.”

“Alright. Now you’ve got a cloud around you, you can either do this physically, with your hands; or mentally, with visualization. Clear your mind....”

Fenris made a few attempts to connect with his magic. Anders could see it was difficult for him; he actually grimaced as he did so. But, at least he’d tried. 

And, not a moment too soon. Over the next few days, the elf’s magic manifested more frequently. Anders made the hike up the back stairs from Darktown every couple hours to drain the overactive mana. And, it was exhausting. His sleep was interrupted two or three times each night; his clinic was barely managed between his frequent calls away and fatigue. Hawke, Bodahn, and Fenris were just as tired. 

As it happened, another problem reared its head, sending him to Hawke for help.

“Templar raids in the Undercity are increasing. I’m going to have to make myself scarce, at least for a while.”

“What about Fenris?”

“Well, that’s why I’m talking to you. I think we can kill two templars with one fireball. If I were to move to Hightown for a bit, it would cool the heat from the templars, and I’d be closer to him, to manage his mana.”

“Do you want to move in here, or at Fenris’ place?”

“I suppose we could go to his mansion, but... well, honestly Hawke, I’d prefer you were around. He responds better to you than to anyone else.”

She nodded. “I think it’s a good idea. You’d have to share the guest room, though. The only other empty room is Mother’s... I’m just not ready....”

“No, I understand. Being bunkmates with Fenris isn’t exactly my dream, but it’ll do. You get to break the news to him, though. I don’t imagine he’ll be thrilled.”

“You two are getting on pretty well, aren’t you?”

“Hawke... we’re never going to get on well. I’d have thought becoming a mage would change his thinking, but it hasn’t.”

“I know. Can’t blame me for hoping. I’ll ask Bodahn to give you a hand with your belongings.”

“You’re more than generous.”

She grinned. "You two can't be any worse than the twins were, right?”


	5. Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' magic makes life in the city dangerous.

Fenris lay in bed, listening to the mage breathe. As if his life hadn’t become nightmare enough, now he was sharing a room with the mage. Of all people.

He had no room to object. He was a guest in Hawke’s home, for his own safety. The mage was part of that safety. But, to not only be dependent on him to drain his mana, as well as share living space....

This was his punishment for refusing to go to the Circle. 

He did not regret his choice. Yet, knowing he was an _apostate,_ of all things, didn't make the situation any easier. He just wished there was some way to ameliorate the sting... no, the _torment..._ of this new life. 

He hated working with the magic. He was well-versed in the sensation of magical energy. Danarius had inflicted it upon him on a daily basis; manipulating the markings, punishing transgressions, occasionally inflicting pleasure. Hadriana had tormented him with her magic, regularly. Other magisters, with permission from Danarius, experimented on the markings. He’d learned to detest the sensation. 

Now, it was within him. Incessantly. The mere idea of deliberately touching it... _bah._ There was no help for it. As irritating as working with Anders was, he had to admit, the mage seemed to know his business. And, given there was little other option, Fenris had no choice but to believe him when he said interacting with it was necessary.

He appraised the sleeping mage in the dim light. Although he asked uncomfortable questions, Anders’ focus seemed to be on logistics and education. He’d outlined his plan for Fenris’ study, making it clear his intention was simply safety, both for Fenris and society-at-large.

“This won’t be the same training you’d get in a Circle,” he’d said. “Although we’ll touch on it, there won’t be time for deep study of Fade mechanics, mana manipulation, or much theory. This will be about control and safety. We’ll have to explore the Fade on a practical level, at some point. You do understand the length of time we’re looking at?” 

“Most Tevinter apprenticeships are contracted by the decade.” He had no intention of working with the mage that long. Anders had nodded.

“Circle apprentices study at least that long before their Harrowing. But, we don’t have a decade. Just as a starting point, I’d like to spend six months to a year in intense study, solidifying your self-control. At which point, we can discuss the remainder of your training. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“That long, just to control accidental magic?" Hawke had asked. "Bethany didn’t take so long."

“There’s more to controlling magic than accidental flares. Especially _his_ accidental flares. It’s getting more pervasive, and I’ve seen at least two different schools of magic, so far. Each needs to be worked with separately, to gain reliable control. This is just the minimum to make him safe to wander the streets, and the Fade.”

“I will not wander the Fade.”

“You wander the Fade every time you sleep,” Anders had said. “You can’t avoid it. And, during those travels, you will meet demons. How they’ve failed to notice you so far, is beyond me. Count yourself lucky.”

Fenris did not consider himself lucky. Yet, he had no doubt he could, and would, resist any demon that tried to tempt him. Certainly he’d do better than Anders, who had a demon residing within him, at this moment. That he’d failed to resist its offer was a very sore spot for Fenris. Which made sharing a room with him all the more irritating.

It wasn’t that Fenris _hated_ the mage. Over all, Anders was fairly unobtrusive. And, the fact he ran a free clinic in the poorest, most desperate part of the city was not to be discounted. But, he was an _abomination,_ determined to free all mages. Both of which made Fenris’ teeth grind.

Of course, Anders clearly wasn’t enjoying their increased proximity any more than Fenris. He was civil enough, until one of them tripped over the other’s nerve. Then, the snapping began. If not for Hawke, their disagreements might blow up into something serious. 

In the days to come, both men suffered from interrupted sleep. He was exhausted, and Anders finally closed the clinic, temporarily. It disturbed Fenris that he was the cause. 

“Anders, will your patients be alright?” Hawke asked, when Anders announced his sabbatical.

“The refugees haven’t been abandoned. Lirene’s got my supplies and potions, and is taking over from her shop in the interim. Even with Justice bolstering my energy, I just don’t have the stamina to perform Spirit Healing, right now. It takes more focus than I can muster.”

“Another reason this magic is a curse,” Fenris said. “It is depriving the poor of their healer.”

Anders shrugged, yawning. “Life’s like that. Sometimes you focus on the needy in Darktown, then you focus on the angry elf for a while. It’ll all balance-out.”

Grumpy as he was, irritation overrode his regret. “Yes... and, your demon is so well-balanced.”

“Far more balanced than your attitude toward mages.”

Hawke stopped them before it could gather steam. “I know you’re both tired, but please try to work together.”

Fenris grumbled, and turned to go to his room. _Their room._ He heard Anders following. With no small satisfaction, he slammed the door behind him. It flew open, immediately.

“Must you always be a complete arse?” Anders griped.

“If you’re hoping for a bowing, sniveling apprentice, you’re going to be disappointed.” He yanked off his armor, and threw himself on his bed.

“Would you get off that, already? I’ve told you, you’re not my apprentice.” He heard the other bed rattle when Anders followed suit.

“And, you are not my master.”

“No shit. Maker’s balls, just go to sleep.”

“Do not presume to give me orders, mage.”

“Do you deliberately misread every damned thing I say?”

“Do you deliberately exist to irritate me?”

“Not so far, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

 _“ENOUGH!”_ Hawke stood in the doorway. “I’m tired of playing mother-hen to you two! Get along, already!”

“He started it,” Anders grumbled. Fenris growled to himself, but held his tongue.

Hawke’s voice faded as she walked away. “Sweet Andraste, give me patience. Now I know how Mother felt.”

It was quiet a moment, before Anders spoke, again.

“I never said I was your master. We didn’t even use that term in the Circle.”

“What did you call yourselves, then?”

“Mentors and instructors. Enchanters did most of the serious training, but I never made the promotion. Too much of a trouble-maker.”

“Yet, they allowed you to teach apprentices?”

“Anyone who’d passed their Harrowing assisted with training to some degree. And, I was a good teacher. Kids like me.”

“It is unfortunate I am not a child, then.”

Anders yawned. “Well, you’re giving a good impression of one, so we’ll do just fine.”

“Shut up, mage.”

“You shut up, _mage.”_

“Do not call me--”

Hawke’s voice carried from downstairs. “Don’t make me come up there!”

Both men grumbled and fell silent. Fenris listened as Anders’ breathing slowed into sleep. The only time they seemed to get along was if Hawke played peacekeeper, or one of them was unconscious. His thoughts slowly gentled and stilled as he, too, succumbed to fatigue.

Before he’d been at Hawke’s estate for two full weeks, trouble arose. Hawke returned from some errands with a worried expression.

“I’ve been approached by a couple neighbors. They’ve noticed the lights, and ice forming on the front walk.”

 _“Fasta vass,”_ he groaned. “Hawke, I must leave your home. I won’t put you at risk....”

“Well, I think I’ve thrown them off, for a bit. I told them it’s Sandal playing with enchantments.”

Anders grinned. “Nicely played. He likes the magic... says it’s pretty.”

“He also talks of the scary lady in his room,” Fenris pointed out. “He’s a good lad, but not exactly of sound mind.”

“He likes me.”

“Case in point.”

“As I was saying...” Hawke interrupted. “That excuse won’t hold forever. Templars will notice, and recognize it for what it is, sooner or later. We need to find someplace more remote than the city.”

Fenris had felt a whole new rush of guilt at the inconvenience he was causing Hawke. Just one more way that this magic was upsetting not only his, but his friends’ lives. Yet, she and Anders discussed the development as though it was simply a matter of course.

“OK,” Anders said. “We’ll move. Someplace out in the middle of nowhere, where no passersby will notice and alert the damned templars.”

“Just where would that be?” Fenris groused.

Hawke replied. “We’ll find a place, don’t worry.”

Varric and Isabela were enlisted to find a suitable locale. They pored over maps of the area surrounding Kirkwall. Both had experience with hidden lairs in the outlying areas, and knew which ones had heavy traffic, and which ones were the most secluded. They narrowed their choices, sent out scouts, and compared amenities. By the time Fenris’ magic was manifesting every hour, the two rogues were able to recommend a location.

“The old pirate’s sanctuary,” Varric announced, at the Hanged Man. Fenris sat with head cushioned on his arms, half asleep, listening as voices flowed around him. “It’s a small beach, along an otherwise barren length of shore. Access by land is difficult, at best; the whole shoreline is sheer cliff walls. Inland is rocky, with scrub and no roadways for miles.”

“It’s a beach pirates once used to lay low,” Isabela said. “There’s a cave for shelter, access to fresh water, and a lovely, protected cove.”

“It sounds more like a holiday destination, than a hideout,” Anders yawned.

“It lost its attraction for visitors when a huge section of overhanging escarpment collapsed along the shoreline, some years ago,” she explained. “Boat access is nearly impossible, now.”

“If it’s impossible, how do you intend to get us there?” Fenris asked. 

“Oh, I can get you there,” Isabela assured them. “We’ll land a couple miles up the shore, going through the only navigable portion along the coastline. We’ll have to drop a dinghy to get to shore, then haul you and your supplies along the cliff bottom to reach the beach. It’s a pain in the ass, but for our purposes, it’s ideal.”

“One thing, though,” Varric added. “Once you’re there, you’re stuck. Too many trips out and back, smugglers are going to think we’re running something, and might follow. Could get dicey.”

“So, we just abandon them there?” Hawke asked. “For how long?”

“We’re not abandoning them,” Varric soothed. “We’re gently setting them ashore with plenty of supplies. We’ll go back with more supplies in three months, and see how they’re doing. We can either bring ‘em back then, or come back in another three months.”

Fenris sighed. Three to six months. Alone. With the mage. They’d kill each other. 

Hawke nodded. “Well, Anders, you wanted to make yourself scarce. Looks like this ought to do it.”

Through another yawn, the mage nodded. “Fine, fine. Sounds great.”

Varric talked with Fenris as Hawke and Isabela discussed details. “I gotta tell you, Broody, I’m damn glad you got the Circle out of your head. When Hawke told me how close you came... well... I’m just glad.”

“It... was not the viable option I’d thought.”

“You’ll be glad you made this decision. Blondie’ll do right by you.”

“We shall see.”

“You two’ll be fine. Everyone has common ground, if they look for it. You just need to find yours.”

“I fear ours is mutual dislike.”

“Come on. You both like Hawke and me... you’ve got that much in common.”

“Neither of you will be with us.”

“Kind of wish I would be. A vacation from city headaches would be nice.”

“This is no vacation, Varric.”

“It all depends on how you look at it, Broody. Look for the silver lining.”

Isabella imagined all kinds of silver linings in their forced seclusion.

“Anders... while you’re gone, teach him that electricity trick of yours.”

“There will be no tricks,” Fenris said. “I will learn control.”

“Oooh... but, that could be such fun. What a nice way to wile away the hours while you’re alone together... on the beach, in the hot sun....”

“No.”

Anders muttered from his half-doze, “I wouldn’t teach it to you, anyway.”

Varric chuckled. “There now, see? Already agreeing on something.”

Within a week, supplies were gathered, and a boat with two discreet hired hands was leased. They set sail with Isabela, Varric, and Hawke for the relatively short journey. It was a full day’s sail, east of Kirkwall, well beyond the Wounded Coast. The fallen escarpment was visible in the many boulders, stone columns, and underwater hazards flanking the coastline. 

Fenris was impressed by Isabela’s sailing prowess; she managed to get a fair distance through the maze before needing to drop anchor. By the time they’d rowed ashore, unloaded on the thin strip of rubble skirting the cliff wall, and begun the long trek to the beach, Fenris was exhausted. He was always exhausted, with the damned magic surging through him every hour. He wanted only to sleep. 

When they’d gotten all their gear to the site, it was nearly dark. They set up camp on the beach, having no idea in what condition the cave was. While the group made dinner and talked over plans, Fenris did exactly what he’d wanted since they made land. He threw his bedroll on the sand, crawled inside, and slept. The first time he awoke to the sensation of his magic stirring, Anders was in his own bedroll, sleeping beside him. How they would handle life on their own, with both of them so exhausted, was anyone’s guess. At the least, there was nothing requiring their attention. Most of the food was preserved, requiring minimal preparation; and there were no real chores to be done. 

The next day, the group secured the area. The cave was at the bottom of a steep, impossible-to-climb, bare wall. The small beach was roughly half-circle in shape; curving out from the sheer cliff. Its fine, cream-colored sand was dotted with a few spindly trees, a collection of driftwood, and a few towers of columnar basalt. The clear water of the cove held the same towers of basalt and underwater boulders as the rest of the coastline. 

The cave itself was simple. The small entrance opened into a large open space. A small, narrow alcove off to one side held a campsite of sorts. Two rickety, narrow cots and a brazier occupied the space, and were all that would fit.

The main room had a sizable fresh water spring against one wall. The water was biting cold, leaving the cave damp and chilled. Fenris understood why previous denizens had crammed the cots into the small alcove with a brazier. At least there, they might have relative warmth.

Finding nothing amiss, they filed back out to the bright morning sunlight, where Isabela pointed out some features of their temporary home. 

“You’re lucky you’re here this time of year; the current from Rivain is moving in, and warming the area. You’re in for some heat. See how calm the cove is? There’s a reef out there... you can just see it... that holds back the worst of the currents. There’s a steep drop-off just ahead, though, see where the water changes color? If you’re not a strong swimmer, stay near shore.”

Varric and Hawke worked together to dig a midden, close to the cliff wall, far from the cave entrance. The rest moved the boxes and crates of supplies into the cave. Fenris was too tired to be much help, but no one mentioned a thing when he and Anders took frequent breaks. 

Hawke took him aside before the group hiked back to the ship. 

“Fenris... you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I... am not sure, no.”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

“It’s not that. I’m just... alone.”

“Anders is here.”

“That is no comfort.”

She laughed. “I know you two don’t always get along. But, he’s actually a decent fellow. He cares about others, and he’s sincere in wanting to help you. He’ll teach you what you need to know. Trust me, you’ll be back home, in no time.”

“I suppose.”

“I’ll pray for you, while you’re gone.”

“I appreciate it. But, I do not believe the Maker cares what happens, either way.”

“That’s alright. I believe enough for both of us.”

“You're a good friend, Hawke.”

He knew Hawke was trying to comfort him, and she truly wanted what was best. But, she didn’t understand. 

Varric approached, having bid farewell to the mage.

“So, elf. I’m gonna miss winning your gold in Wicked Grace.”

“You’ve missed winning it for years, dwarf.”

“Oh ho! Well said. I threw a deck of Diamondback cards in the supply crates. Blondie’s not much competition for a serious game, but it’ll pass the time. Try playing with one card turned backward.... give him an edge.”

“I doubt we’ll play games, Varric.”

“Your call. He’s better at story-telling than gambling, anyway. Better at it than you, in any case. We’ll be back in a few months with supplies, and see how you’re doing. Just don’t kill him in the meantime. Rivaini needs him to keep her in fighting shape.”

The pirate joined them, just then. “Um, Varric... that’s not fighting you hear through the walls.”

Varric chuckled, shaking his head. 

“So,” Isabela purred. “What say I give you a little something to remember me by, before we push-off?”

“Thank you, but no. Be assured, you will not be forgotten.”

Bidding the group farewell was harder than he’d expected. He stood, watching as they made their way down the rocky skirt of the cliff. Just before they rounded a bluff, Hawke turned, and raised a hand. Fenris raised his in return, holding it aloft until they disappeared from sight. As his hand dropped, so did his spirits. 

What Hawke didn’t understand, and what he couldn’t explain, was the abandonment he felt. He’d agreed to this plan, agreed to come here and learn to control the damnable magic infesting him. Yet... he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been carted out to the middle of nowhere, and dumped like garbage. He’d never felt such overwhelming loneliness. 

He turned back toward the cave, and caught sight of the mage. 

“What are you smiling about?” he groused.

“This is the first time in two decades I haven’t had to keep one eye over my shoulder. No darkspawn, no templars... I can actually relax.” With a huge yawn, he began pulling off his clothes and dropping them on his bedroll.

“What are you doing?” 

“Going for a swim,” he answered, dropping his smallclothes. 

Fenris stood watching as the naked mage pulled the tie from his hair, strode confidently into the water, and dove under. Surfacing further out, Anders shook his hair back, and struck out with strong, clean strokes. Fenris watched him for a while. He had never been taught to swim.

He turned away, picked-up his sleeping roll, and walked to the cave. 

How had he come to this pass? He was an apostate. An apostate separated from all he held dear, and left in isolation to learn magic from an abomination. Was this truly his life, now? Darkness crept into the edges of his mind.

He walked into the alcove and dropped his bedroll on one of the cots. Taking off his armor and blade, he shoved them under his bed. He was no longer a warrior. He was a mage. The darkness crept further into his thoughts. Crawling into his blankets, he slipped into exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can think of much worse things than being stuck on a beach with either Anders, Fenris, or both. For three months, with an option for six. :-D


	6. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris struggles with... it all.

Anders didn’t swim far before fatigue brought him to a halt. The water felt incredible; warm on the surface, buoyant, and clean. Besides small, slow swells, there was hardly any current. He tread water, looking back at the beach. Apparently, Fenris had gone in the cave. He should be fine for a while; Anders had drained his mana shortly before Hawke left.

He shook his head, still not quite believing the events which led them to this place. He’d grown somewhat accustomed to the idea of Fenris being a mage. Draining his mana a dozen-plus times a day had pretty much drilled it into his head. 

The fact he was training the elf was tough to wrap his mind around. Well, what little training Fenris was willing to do. He was prickly about the topics he’d discuss, and pricklier about actually connecting with his magic. The last part wasn’t too unusual for a new mage, but it was inconvenient. With the rate at which his mana regenerated, he needed to get a hand on it sooner, rather than later. Although, now they were here, without risk of discovery, the urgency had eased. 

Anders felt such freedom in this place. No templars, no Circle, no prying eyes. He rolled onto his back, and floated. The clear water, the warm air, the cream-colored sand of the beach; this was paradise. Sure, he was here with the angriest elf in Thedas, who argued with nearly every word he said. But even so, it was a far-cry from Darktown. They were here to work, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy some of cove’s offerings between lessons. He floated in the water, and let his mind drift. 

Something slid under him, and he splashed upright in surprise. Treading water, he chuckled to himself. He’d drifted over a submerged, water-smoothed block of rock. Looking around, he saw several such submerged hazards, leftovers from the fragmented escarpment. They were clustered in places, varying in depths from too deep to reach, to standing a tree’s height out of the water. He understood why even a small boat would have trouble navigating its way to shore.

Fatigue soon drove him in. He carried his clothes into the cavern, looking for his towel. He found his pack on the empty cot in the alcove. Fenris was curled in his sleeping roll on the other one. He was ready for a nap, as well, but wasn’t about to stay in the tiny space. He shouldered his pack, hoisted the cot, and carried it to the beach. Setting it in the shade of a tall tree, he spread his bedroll on it, and climbed into blissful slumber.

It was short-lived. Fenris woke him, shrouded in swirling, lavender-tinged energy. With barely a thought, he drained his mana, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Maker, he was tired.

The next time he was awakened by the elf, he got up. Pulling on a tunic and trousers, he gestured to Fenris.

“Come on, then. We need to start some training.”

Apparently, the wonders of the cove hadn’t given Fenris the same boost of joy it gave Anders. If anything, he was even more dour. He went through the motions, following Anders’ guidance to connect with, and manipulate, his magical energy. After one attempt, however, he stopped. He was tired, and wanted to go back to bed.

Anders sighed. If Fenris didn’t want to work, there wasn’t much he could do about it. When he’d first balked at working with his magic, it had taken Hawke to convince him to try. Hawke wasn’t here, and wouldn’t be for three months. And Maker knew, Fenris was neither inspired, nor intimidated, by Anders. 

“Alright. Get some sleep. We’ll try again, later.” 

He watched the elf disappear back into the cave. This was more than fatigue. There was a despondency about him that hadn’t been there, before. Could he actually be homesick? He didn’t seem the kind of man to form strong attachments to people, let alone places. Whatever it was, Fenris would get over it, quickly enough, he was sure. He’d just have to wait until he was ready to work, again.

He looked out at the water. Well, at least he was in a nice place to wait. He climbed back into his bed, and gazed up through the sun dappled leaves above him. The shifting light and sound of the ocean lulled him to sleep. 

For nearly a week, Fenris stayed in his funk. Out of nearly two dozen mana surges daily, Fenris was willing to work with Anders only two or three. The rest of the time, he lay on his cot, blankets over his head. He rarely ate, and then, not much. It was as though coming to paradise had fed a lurking melancholy in the elf. 

The effect of his lack of sleep couldn’t be discounted, either. Anders, himself, was struggling with the same deprivation. It was only a combination of Justice, and Warden stamina, that kept him functioning at a level slightly higher than the elf’s.

He stood in the alcove’s entry, watching Fenris sleep. He was curled into a ball, as though hiding. Anders had worked with countless mages dealing with just this problem. Of course, working with Fenris presented some unique challenges. He was quite likely to get irritated, should Anders try to address the issue with him. Although the possibility of him lashing out was real, he was confident of his ability to manage any sort of attack. What Anders couldn’t risk was Fenris refusing to work with him, altogether. Handling the warrior was going to require kid-gloves.

When his magic next surfaced, Anders drained his mana, and insisted he follow him outside. They took their usual position facing each other on the warm beach. Fenris stared at the sand with dull eyes.

“I know you’re bruised inside, Fenris. I know the darkness that’s dragging you under. But, I need you to _wake up._ I need you to work with me. If you want to control this, you have to be willing to interact with your magic. You have to practice. You chose this path, you agreed to come here for just this reason.” 

Fenris spoke in a dull voice.

“You have no idea what I feel.”

“You’re wrong. I know exactly what you feel.”

He saw a flicker of irritation in the elf’s eyes. It was emotion, at least. 

“It is none of your concern, either way.”

“It is, actually. This melancholy is impeding your progress. It’s not your fault... and, it’s fairly common. But, I need you able to work. _You_ need you to be able to work.”

Fenris’ jaw was set, the muscle twitching. He continued staring at the sand between them. Anders tried again.

“I want to help you. That’s why I came here. But, I can’t do it alone. You have to take part in your own life.”

“Do not make claims of caring what happens to me, mage. This is all a great joke to you, to see me suffer under this curse.”

“Have you forgotten my mission in life? _To help mages._ You’re a mage. Seeing you suffer this way is not amusing for me. I understand--”

“You do not understand. You have _no idea_ what the feel of magic does to me. I touch it, and--” his mouth snapped shut. 

“... and what? I can’t help you, if you won’t trust me. Talk to me, dammit....”

Fenris continued staring the sand into submission. Anders swore the grains trembled in fear. Looking closer, he realized they _were_ trembling. The sand between them was shifting, beginning to slowly swirl. A frigid breeze began to blow. Looking around them, Anders saw that the surrounding foliage was jerking in a wind not of natural origin. 

“Fenris... relax your thoughts. Try to--”

_“LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

Wind and spinning sand picked-up speed, snowflakes and hail mixing into the storm. Shivering on the sunny beach, they shielded their eyes from the wind. A full-blown blizzard was underway, and picking up strength. This, when Fenris’ mana had just been drained? How much power was lurking under that lyrium-lined exterior? Anders waited to see how the elf handled it. 

The storm gained momentum, stinging them with sand and ice. The few trees on the beach whipped in the gale winds, the blizzard’s roar grown deafening. Unmoving in the storm, Anders sat, waiting for the elf to do something. He silently watched until Fenris cried out desperately. 

_“MAKE IT STOP!!”_

Anders immediately dispelled the magic wreaking havoc about them. The wind died, dumping airborne sand and hail over them both. Fenris sat, covered in sand, face twitching, still staring at the ground between them.

“Alright?” Anders asked mildly. 

“No,” was the whispered reply.

“That sort of thing will happen, sometimes. That’s why we’re out here, in the middle of nowhere. You can learn to control it. If you let me teach you.”

“I don’t care if I learn.” 

“Mmmm... you must care a little bit. You came out to the ass-end of nowhere, for Maker-knows how long, just so you could learn.”

“What difference does it make? It’ll still be in me.”

“Of course it will. You’re a mage. You’ll always have magic.”

“What if I become like _him?”_ came the harsh whisper. “What if I fall under the lure of this power and become... _him?”_

Maker’s breath. It was the most honest, raw admission he’d yet made. It was wrenching.

“Fenris... you won’t. I may not know you well, but I know you could never become him. I will teach you to control your magic, and you can live any way you choose. And, I guarantee, you won’t choose to live like him.”

The elf continued staring at the sand. Anders craned his neck to meet his gaze. 

“Alright?”

Fenris glanced at him, and nodded.

He sighed with relief. “Let’s have something to eat, and another nap. By then, your magic will manifest, and we’ll work on it. Agreed?”

Another silent nod.

He could feel a difference in his attempts to connect with his magic. He felt the tug and shift of energy as Fenris tried to mold it with his mind. It was their longest session, yet.

“Good work. We’ll try again later, but this has been an excellent start.”

Fenris merely nodded, and walked to the cave. Once out of sight, Anders clasped his hands together in weary victory. The last few hours had been full of potential disaster. Yet, it had gone surprisingly well. He only hoped it would continue to do so. 

And, it seemed to. Within days, Fenris had made progress in shaping the magic overrunning his system. Although simple manipulation of energy was seemingly meaningless as far as gaining control, it was an important foundation to working with it. A mage had to be adept at sensing their own energy in order to use it; otherwise, it was like learning to walk with numb legs. 

For Fenris, who felt such strong revulsion to the feel of any magic, it was even more important. Focus was vital when performing magic. Distraction by unease of his own magic could have disastrous results.

Although he now worked willingly, it was still without enthusiasm. Darkness surrounded him, leaving him downright morose. Anders didn’t think he’d changed his clothes, let alone bathed, since arriving. His hair was greasy and lank, and he smelled. Anders suspected his dolor was partly due to severe fatigue. Fenris was not only going without sleep, his constant overflow of magical energy was physically draining. Anders offered him sleep potions, which he refused. 

His fatigue was bad enough there were times he wasn’t awakened by his magic’s overflow. Those times, Anders drained his mana without waking him, to let him sleep as long as possible; which was never long. As days passed, Fenris grew wan, his enormous eyes sunken in dark circles. 

If things didn’t improve, Anders would have no choice but suggest he try the collar. Hawke had given it to him before they left, as an emergency measure. He’d shoved it into his pack, knowing full-well Fenris wouldn’t let it near him. Now... he wondered if he might accept it. Even so, it was a risky proposal. Fenris actually liked Hawke, and had nearly sent her through the wall when she’d approached with it. Anders had no illusions as to the elf’s reaction if he were to do the same.

So, they continued their work. And, if Fenris wasn’t always able to think clearly, or was cutting odd, sidelong glances at him, Anders didn’t bring it up. The elf certainly had enough tearing him down without pointing out his deficits. Anders strove to remain upbeat, even when his own fatigue made him impatient. He remembered Fenris’ voice, confessing his fear of emulating his former master; and it strengthened his resolve. It helped him find patience and positive words to combat the dark despair oozing from the elf.


	7. Delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' troubles go deeper than Anders realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleep deprivation symptoms include, but are not limited to:
> 
> Sleepiness  
> Mood changes  
> Difficulty concentrating  
> Memory and thinking problems  
> Disorientation and hallucinations  
> Paranoia

The beauty and serenity of the cove went unnoticed by Fenris. All he saw was the cave, when he dragged himself in and out of bed; and the mage, when he worked with the magic. He had no interest in his surroundings, no interest in training, and no interest in living. He was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. And, he knew Anders had no intention of leaving him alone. 

The mage had been a thorn in his side since the moment they’d met. Spouting his drivel about mage rights and freedom... he was blind to the atrocities free mages committed. He saw the demon he harbored as noble, enabling him to bring about his foolish goals. 

Ironically, Fenris’ companions mistakenly believed he hated all mages. It wasn’t that simple. He’d been genuinely fond of Bethany, and saddened by her loss. The truth was, Fenris simply didn’t trust mages. And, with good reason. He’d never met any other group of people with a greater capacity for corruption.

And now, Fenris was a member of that fatally flawed population. If he refused to go into a Circle, it was his responsibility to ensure he did not become a danger. To that end, he applied himself to performing as Anders asked. And, it wasn’t easy.

He detested working with the magic. He was so tired... constantly tired. He had trouble concentrating. His mind wandered; it drifted into dark thoughts, or became distracted by the smallest of discomforts. Anders had to repeat himself continually, as though teaching a half-wit. Every gain made required excessive effort on both their parts. Fenris began to wonder why they bothered.

As exhaustion took an ever greater hold, he was sucked deeper into the darkness. He didn’t _want_ to be a mage, so why was he trying so hard to be one? They’d been here for weeks, and he was no closer to controlling this magic. His mind and body craved sleep, and sleep was the one thing he couldn’t have. Was this what he had to look forward to, for the rest of his life? _He didn’t want to live like this._

Yet, what choice did he have? He’d have to bear it, as he’d borne so much hardship, already. Was he to know only struggle and loss in his life? Why should the Maker consider it a sin to exit such an existence by one’s own hand? It was simple cruelty to deny relief to the suffering.

He struggled on, hating what his life had become. 

He finally managed to shape the magic. He steeled himself against the feel of it, and molded it to his will. He still wasn’t able to pull it in when it overflowed, but he could alter it.

And, that was when Anders said something which changed everything. 

“Now you can shape it, I’ll teach you to cast arcane bolts,” Anders said. 

Fenris’ foggy mind snapped to attention. “You said I didn’t have to use magic. You said I would learn only to control it.”

“This _is_ how you learn to control it. “Deliberately creating what is occurring naturally, helps you gain a sense of the internal and external movement of your magic. Launching bolts will teach your system to move energy from inside to out, and hence, outside to in.”

Fenris scowled. He didn’t like it. He had no way to tell if Anders was speaking the truth. He had no one to ask, nowhere else to turn. Lacking any other options, he followed the mage’s instructions, and learned to cast arcane bolts. As he did so, his scattered mind perseverated on Anders’ true intentions. Small things seemed to add up to big things. 

Anders was unfailingly patient and encouraging. Why? He’d never behaved this way before. Was it to lull him into complacency? To gain his trust? And, how did he have the energy to be so calm? Fenris could barely perform, at all. How did Anders have so much more energy than he? Fenris knew there were spells to drain energy from others; it was a kind of blood magic. Danarius had done as much. He’d used the lyrium markings to supplant his own magic.

Was that Anders was doing, when he laid hands on him? He said he was sensing the energies within him. How would Fenris know? Was Anders draining his energy, leaving him weak and vulnerable? Was the demon sucking life from him, as well?

He thought of the storm he’d caused on the beach. The way he’d spoken so openly afterward, revealing his fears. Was Anders using magic on him, to make him to speak what he normally would not? Danarius and Hadriana had done many things to Fenris, for their personal and magical gain. What would stop Anders from doing the same?

The darkness fed these thoughts. His mind, bending under the weight of his fatigue, saw conspiracy, saw lies, saw danger. For he was certain he was in danger. He was at Anders’ mercy, in their isolation. Anders wanted mage freedom, wanted to turn the South into another Imperium. Was he planning to keep Fenris, to aide this endeavor? Enslave him through his dependence on mana-drain, and take him to Tevinter, there to gather power and influence? 

He couldn’t let Anders know his suspicions. If he thought Fenris was onto his plan, he’d conceal the truth more deeply. So, Fenris kept his own council while continuing to look for clues. It was hard. He was exhausted. Anders could tell if he didn’t make an effort during training, and would ask questions. He knew there had been times he’d slept through the magic’s overflow. Was it Anders’ doing? He did his best to wake with the magic, even if it increased his fatigue. He couldn’t afford to leave the mage unsupervised.

And, although he was determined not to show his cards, Fenris was finding it hard not to confront the mage. To tell him he knew of his plans, and that he would fail at them. For weeks, he watched and listened, and kept his own council. Yet... it had to end, sometime.

“You’re really getting the hang of it,” Anders said. “Try again.”

Fenris summoned the energy within, and sent a bolt at the mage’s shield. 

“Excellent. As quickly as you picked this up, you’ll have no trouble gaining force as your power develops.”

“As my power develops? I’ve told you, I do not wish to develop this power.”

“That’s what all this training is, Fenris. We are developing your power.”

“I knew it! You are tricking me into doing this! You know I wish only to control it, not to use it!”

“I’ve explained this, before: you need to develop your power, in order to control your power. I’m not tricking you about anything.”

Fenris had had enough. He wasn't playing along, any longer.

“I know what you’re doing, mage. You wish to have a strong apprentice, who can further your own gain. Or a mage slave, to take with you to Tevinter. One with a lyrium source you can draw upon, to increase your power and free all mages.”

Anders did an admirable job of hiding his surprise at being discovered.

 _“Are you insane?_ Where is this coming from? I’m not teaching you to further anything but your own safety.” Anders’ brow furrowed. “Draw on your lyrium? Did Danarius do that?”

Aha. He’d slipped-up. “You’d love to know, wouldn’t you? Love to follow in his footsteps. I will not allow you to use me the way he did, experimenting with the markings....”

He marched to Anders’ cot, picked up his pack, and upended it. Clothing, books, sundry items, all dumped into the sand. Anders followed after him.

“What in the Void? Maker’s ass, you’re getting sand in everything. What is _with_ you?” 

Fenris ignored him, scattering the mage’s belongings, in search of anything incriminating. Then... he found it. _The collar._ Fury filled him. He turned and threw it in Anders’ face.

_“What is that doing here?”_

“Hawke gave it to me--”

“Do not blame this on Hawke! You planned this all along! You brought that thing with you to control me, to make me your own slave--”

“That is just enough! Lack of sleep is getting to you. I’m not planning anything--”

“You lie. You _all_ lie. All you want is power, to subjugate, to control--”

“We’re done here, Fenris. You’re talking nonsense. Go to bed and get some rest. If you want, I’ll give you a sleeping draught, and manage your magic while you sleep. Maker knows, you need it.”

“You don’t really think I’d fall for that, do you?” He stood too quickly, and staggered. Anders reached to steady him, and he twisted away. _“DON’T TOUCH ME.”_

“Fine, fall on your ass. I’ll talk to you when you start making sense.” He turned and walked toward the water.

“We are not through here, mage!”

“Oh, yes, we are,” Anders called back.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” 

Anders gave him the finger over his shoulder, and impotent rage filled him. But... he was not so impotent, after all, was he? He’d give that mage _exactly_ what he’d asked for. Summoning all the power he could, he fired an energy bolt, hitting him square in the back. Without his shield, Anders was knocked on his face in the sand. 

Fenris smirked as he scrambled up, and sent another bolt at him. It struck him in the face as he turned, making him stagger and cry out. His hands flew to cover his eyes, and flashed with blue healing magic. He turned toward the fuming elf.

“What the Void are you about?” he demanded. “You could have blinded me!”

“You will _not_ ignore me,” Fenris ground out.

“You will _not_ use your magic in anger.” 

Fenris was well beyond anger. “You will _not_ command me!”

He launched another bolt, but Anders was prepared, and deflected it with ease. Fenris launched several more, righteous indignation turning to dismay as they were effortlessly waved away. 

Anders strode toward him, hands swirling with magic, eyes blazing with anger. Fenris had never seen him so provoked, without the demon bursting through. No, this was pure Anders; eyes narrow, jaw set, fury in every square inch of him. He’d never noticed just how tall he was until now, as he stood glaring down at him. Yet, despite his anger, Anders’ voice remained low and calm; his restraint far more intimidating than a loss of temper would have been. 

“Now, you listen to me, and you listen well. You do _not_ use your power in anger. You do _not_ use your magic when words will do. And, you do _not_ attack someone with magic unless you’d be willing to attack them with a blade. Go find a knife, if that’s the case, and we’ll have it out, right now. But, I’m telling you, _boy,_ attack me again with my back turned, and I’ll bring down a world of hurt.”

Fenris wasn’t thinking clearly, but Anders’ harsh words cut through the confusion. His righteous, fatigue-spun anger drained away, leaving only darkness in its place. 

“I’m cutting you some serious slack, right now. I’m blaming your behavior on delirium, because by rights, you should have collapsed long before this. You need to force your way through the fog in your head, long enough to hear what I’m going to say.

“I’m _not_ Danarius. I’m _not_ a magister, and I’m bloody-well _not_ a slaver! I don’t want to control you, or use you, or drag you back to Tevinter. _I came here to help you._

“Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever hurt you? Have I ever used blood magic? Even if you don’t trust me, do you think Hawke would have left us together, if she didn’t? She gave me the collar so you could find surcease if the magic became uncontrollable. That is all.

“I know you’re falling apart. I’ve been on the bitter edge, myself, for weeks. But, believe me when I say, I’m on your side.”

As Anders’ words cleared some of the fog from his mind; shame, thick and clotted, filled him. His conclusions, his justifications... all baseless. He’d made hideous accusations. He’d constructed a lie and fed it, and spewed it like venom. He’d attacked a man with his back turned; an act that would make a magister proud. Possessing magic had made him one of _them,_ after all. 

He stood before the mage, awaiting the retribution he deserved.

 _Kill me,_ he thought. _Just kill me. Make it all end. I can’t take anymore._

He heard a sigh, and felt his mana drain. Anders’ voice was tired.

“Go get some rest. We’ll talk about this later.”

Without argument, Fenris turned, and staggered toward the cave. 

There was no Maker, and if there was, He didn’t give a fig for Fenris, that much was clear. If the mage wouldn’t end his misery, he would. He flipped over his cot, looking for his sword. It was gone, along with his knife.

He just didn’t have the energy to search for another blade. He dropped to the floor next to his overturned bed. It was cruel irony he could not phase into his own body, and crush his own heart. He should have gone to the Circle, and begged the templars to execute him. Anything rather than live to see himself emulate a magister. He lay on the floor of the cave and let the darkness claim him. If there was any justice, the cold and damp would kill him.

As always, he was awakened by the energy spiraling through him. He was confused, stupid with fatigue, wondering why he lay on the cave floor, shivering. He fell into habit. His magic was overflowing; he needed to drain his mana. He dragged himself out of the cave, but the mage was nowhere to be found. He squinted into the sunlit water. Far off, he could see Anders reclined on a partially submerged rock.

Fenris called several times, but he couldn’t hear him. He threw rocks to get his attention, but they fell short. He stripped off his clothing, and with magic swirling around him, cautiously entered the water. About mid-thigh, he tried again. Thrown rocks still fell short. He moved further out, feeling for solid footing. 

As he drew back his arm to throw, his feet shifted in the sand, sliding toward the drop-off. Pinwheeling frantically, he found himself hanging in the water, face nearly submerged. He had time for a panicked breath, before sinking. 

Slipping under the surface, his eyes and mouth filled with brine. He flailed for the surface, watching it move farther away. It was cold now, dim, as he sank ever deeper. Intense pain shot through his ears, and with a muffled pop, all went silent. 

His descent halted as he bounced gently on the bottom of the cove. His lungs burned like fire in his chest; desperate to take a breath, desperate not to. Fear--raw terror--unlike anything he’d felt in battle, surged through him. He was dimly aware of the energies within him spiraling out of control; the lyrium and magic exploding in his extremis.

And, he knew he was dying. With utter certainty, he knew he would die; for this was not an enemy he could take arm against, and there was no one to save him. He would die here, alone, at the bottom of the sea. As his vision grew dim, one thought filled his mind. 

_He didn’t want to die._

Darkness threatened as his lungs took a spasmodic, agonizing breath. The pain of inhaling the cold brine was lost, as images filled his mind. People, places, events. Names and relations, hidden and known. His life... his entire life. In an instant, he remembered.

As the memories faded, a figure moved into view, backlit by the light above. A figure with arms outstretched. A figure shot-through with blazing blue, and eyes aglow. 

His vision faded, as life slipped away.


	8. Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Physician, heal thy elf.

Anders exploded out of the water, lungs bursting, Justice fading back within. He pulled the limp form after him, struggling to keep himself afloat. Gasping for breath, he towed Fenris to the nearest support he could find, a submerged section of rock that allowed him to stand chest deep in the water. 

_“Don’t you die on me, elf.”_

He held him in one arm, half-floating, and felt for a heartbeat. There was none. With a hand on the elf’s chest, and a judiciously applied force spell, water expelled from his lungs, pouring out his blue-tinged mouth and nose. He shifted his hand, fingers placed carefully on the still chest. Pulling his thoughts into focus, with precise timing and energy, he touched the lifeless heart with electricity. Then, once more. Fenris’ heart fluttered, and began to beat. 

Anders nearly swooned in relief, but his work wasn’t done. With another shift of hand position, and another careful application of force magic, Fenris’ lungs expanded, drawing air, and contracted, expelling it. Anders sent a fervent prayer to the Maker.

_“Oh please oh please oh please.”_

It seemed to take an eternity, but after a half-dozen forced breaths, Fenris spasmed and coughed, more water expelling from his lungs.

“Yes!” Anders gasped. 

He was exultant, but his hands were too full of the elf--quite literally--to celebrate. He supported Fenris as he coughed; spitting up water, fighting for air. With a lurch, he twisted in Anders’ arms, eyes huge, and wrapped all four limbs about the mage. Clinging like a wet cat, he retched over Anders’ shoulder, stomach ejecting the brine he’d swallowed. He gagged, choked, heaved, and coughed. Anders simply held on, knowing there was nothing he could do, at this point. Fenris’ body needed to clear itself. 

Anders caught his own breath, as the elf cleaved to him. He was shaking as badly as Fenris. Of all the potential complications he’d anticipated, coming to the cove, this hadn’t been among them.

He’d swum out after their argument, deeply bothered by their altercation. He’d been prepared for Fenris to act-out, at some point. Most new mages did, and the elf had a painful history with magic. Between his lack of sleep and preconceptions of mages, Fenris was ripe for defiance. What Anders hadn’t expected, was a magic attack. 

Fortunately, it hadn’t been hard to take the wind from his sails. Fenris was exhausted, with no stamina for a sustained attack. Once he’d disappeared into the cave, Anders had swum out to calm down. Exhausted, he’d found his favorite resting spot, and dozed off... until he was nearly shaken from his perch. Alarmed, he’d searched for the cause. Closer to shore, a bizarre light show was flashing underwater. Several more bursts went off in rapid succession before he suddenly, sickeningly, realized what it was. Fenris was drowning, his magic and lyrium erupting in his distress.

He’d swum hard, and dove deep to reach him. He could just make-out the elf far below, the light from magic and lyrium fading. Anders had never swum half so deep as the elf had sunk. He knew, logically, he couldn’t reach him and pull him up, without losing consciousness. But, logic wasn’t in command. Fenris was dying before his very eyes; he had to try. And, if he died trying, so be it.

He’d forced his body down, the fading light of magic and lyrium guiding him. He grew dizzy, ears and lungs straining under the pressure. As his lungs gave in to the compulsion to inhale, he felt Justice surge, and all went black. 

When next he was aware, he was breaching the surface, hand locked about the elf’s wrist. With the sketchy memory of possession, he knew Justice had saved not only Anders, but Fenris, as well.

Though shaking badly, Fenris’ retching and coughing seemed to have calmed. Anders tried to get a look at him, but he clung fast. 

“Fenris? Are you alright? Talk to me.”

He continued shaking, teeth chattering. He needed to get him to shore; dry him off, wrap him in warm blankets; before he went into shock. He saw a trickle of blood from his ear. Cupping his hands on both sides of Fenris’ head, he healed the burst ear drums. 

“Fenris? Can you hear me?”

 _“Nnnnngggghhhhh,”_ came the teeth-chattering reply.

“I need to get you to shore. Just hold on, like you are.”

The grip around him tightened. Anders wasn’t sure how he was going to manage this. They weren’t far out, but swimming with an elf attached to his front, while exhausted, was going to push his already-stretched limits. Tracking the rock formations littering the cove, he mapped the likeliest path toward shore. If he was careful, he could keep both their heads above water, and do an awkward, hopping backstroke, from rock to rock. 

It was harder than he thought. If Fenris would let his legs float behind him, it might be easier; but he wasn’t giving up his death grip. By the time Anders got them close enough to shore to stand upright, he was utterly exhausted. 

“Put your feet down, Fenris, you can stand, here.” He tugged at the elf experimentally, trying to peel him away, without luck. So, Anders carried him, staggering out of the water and up the beach. He reached his cot and pulled the blanket around them both. Legs finally giving out, he fell on his rump in the sand, Fenris still clutching him. The sand was warm. The sun was warm. The blanket was warm. They were both safe on dry land.

_Oh, Maker... thank you-thank you-thank you._

Slowly, Fenris’ shaking eased, Anders’ breathing calmed, and bone-deep fatigue overwhelmed him. He collapsed backward in the sand, the elf still plastered to his front. 

“It’s alright,” he mumbled. “I’ve got you....”

He slipped into exhausted sleep.

He was awakened by magic swirling around them, jolted by a forceful cough. He wasn’t the one coughing, he realized. Fenris still lay on his chest, sweating, a wet cough rattling his chest. Draining Fenris’ mana, he sat up to examine him. Pushing salt-stiffened hair out of the elf’s eyes, he found them half-lidded, and feverish. 

“Fenris... talk to me.”

He was answered with another gurgling cough. Anders managed to stand, and carry him to the cot. The movement stirred Fenris to semi-coherency, and brought on another round of hacking.

“... I’m drowning....”

“Not if have anything to say about it.”

Careful application of healing magic eased the worst of the cough. Helping Fenris sit upright, he pressed his ear to the elf’s bare back. Crackling, groaning airflow confirmed his suspicion. Fenris was right; he was drowning. Although he’d been rescued from the water, a systemic cascade had been set in motion, and his lungs were filling with his own body humors. Anders knew this was just as deadly as the bottom of the sea. They were in for a long stretch, as he cycled healing magic with potions, repeatedly, to overcome the effects. Even so, Fenris could still die.

“Can’t breathe.” Fenris struggled to speak between breaths. 

“There’s fluid in your lungs, but we’ll take care of it. You’ll be fine.” 

He needed blankets and pillows from the elf’s bed, and potions from their supplies in the cave. He settled Fenris back on the cot. 

“I’m going to the cave for supplies. I’ll be right back.”

Fenris gripped his wrist.

“Don’t go....” he sounded as though he was breathing through wet towels.

“I’ll be right back.”

Terrified eyes beseeched him. “... I’m dying....”

“You aren’t. I know it feels like it, but you aren’t. Just one minute, and I’ll be back.”

In the end, he had to pry the fingers from his wrist, still reassuring the elf.

On his return, arms loaded with bedding and potions, he found Fenris on his knees beside the cot, wracked with coughing. He dropped the bedding, and sat in the sand with him. His wrist was once again caught in an iron grip.

“... can’t breathe....”

“Come on... sit upright... lean against me... that’s it. 

“Stay with me....” 

“I’m right here... I’m right here. I want you to breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. Can you do that? Breathe with me--”

“I’m dying... don’t go....”

“You’re not dying, Fenris. I’m right here... you’ve got hold of my wrist, feel that? I’m right here with you. Come on, now, breathe with me; in through your nose... out through your mouth... in... and, out....”

As he gentled the anxious elf, his free hand took a potion from the pile he’d dropped. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he held it to the elf’s lips. Fenris managed a few swallows before he coughed, spraying it over the both of them. Anders held him steady as he gagged, using a small trickle of healing magic to ease the spasms.

As the potion and magic calmed him, Anders set about arranging the extra bedding into a pile on the cot with his free arm. 

“Up you go... back on the bed,” he coaxed. He managed to get the elf, along with a quantity of sand, tucked into his sleeping roll. He fussed with the pile behind Fenris’ back, ensuring his head and chest were elevated.

“What’s happening... to me?” Fenris’ breathing was less labored, but talking left him breathless.

“You took-in a lot of water, and your humors are shifting.” 

Anders sat in the sand at bedside, his wrist yet clutched in the elf’s hand. He wasn’t surprised by Fenris’ desperate grasp, nor his fear of being alone. Anders had seen the strongest of men overcome with panic as they struggled to breathe.

“Are you warm enough? I don’t know where your clothes are....”

“I don’t want... to die....” 

“You’re not going to die.”

“I want... to live.”

“You’re going to live, Fenris. Just breathe. We’ll get you through this.”

Fenris was in and out of consciousness for hours. Despite his condition, or perhaps because of it, he repeatedly fell into deep sleep. He badly needed the rest, yet sleeping didn’t encourage the deep breathing he needed to clear his lungs. Anders sat in vigil, observing his condition, listening to his chest, calming the cough when it exhausted him, and stimulating a cough when he became congested. When necessary, he woke the elf, helped him sit up, plied him with potions, magic, and comforting words.

As evening fell, Fenris rested more easily for longer periods. His sleep was fitful, accompanied by frowns, murmurs, and jumbled words. He let loose of Anders’ arm a few times, and he took advantage of the freedom to dress; the evening breeze had a chill. He risked another run to the cave for a fresh skin of water. On his return, Fenris was casting his arm about for him, the blankets tossed aside. He tucked the blankets about his shoulders, reaching under them for the elf to hold his wrist. 

“Stay with me....”

“I’m right here.”

He treated the elf through the night, using starlight, the moons, and his own magic to light his work. With a variety of spells and potions, Anders slowly healed the imbalances of body, blood, and lungs. 

Fenris was unusually talkative when conscious, although speaking left him short of breath. He spoke disjointedly, pausing to gasp for air every few words.

“I hate... working with... the magic.”

“I can tell.”

“I don’t like... to touch it... even with my mind.”

“I know.”

“Danarius and Hadriana... used magic on me.... terrible things.... Touching it... reminds me... of them.”

“I’m sorry. You need to know, most mages wouldn’t do that.”

“So you say.... In Tevinter... they all would.” He looked at Anders with exhausted, shadowed eyes. “Have you never... used your magic... to harm someone?”

“You’ve seen me kill and maim countless enemies.”

“Not that.... When you... didn’t need to.”

“Oh. I’m sure I haven’t.”

Fenris’ voice dropped to a whisper. “And, yet... I did.”

“What? When? You don’t even remember having magic.”

“Earlier... today... I was no better... than _them.”_

“That’s not true. You were delirious.”

“I am shamed....”

“We all make mistakes. If you knew half my screw-ups....”

“You also... are exhausted... yet, haven’t done... what I did.”

“I’ve got the advantage of support you don’t.”

“Your demon.”

“Partly. Being a Grey Warden has the benefit of stamina, as well.”

Fenris’ face contorted in pain. 

“What is it? Where does it hurt?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t want to be... like them... I don’t want....” His words choked off. Anders had never seen Fenris so distraught. 

“You don’t have to be like them. I keep telling you that. You’re _not_ like them. Dealing with becoming a mage takes time. You’ll grow into it.”

“Don’t let me... keep me... from... from....”

He fell asleep mid-sentence.

Anders jolted awake. He’d dozed-off, leaning against the cot, hand crushed in the elf’s grip. 

“Wha--?”

“... can’t breathe....” Fenris gasped. He wheezed, weak coughs doing little to clear his airway.

“Come on, sit up.” He swung his leg around, to sit behind Fenris on the cot, supporting him against his front. He wrapped his arms around him, hands against his struggling chest. “Take a deep breath....”

He sent gentle vibrations into the elf’s chest. The stimulation brought on forceful hacking. With a final, painful cough, a huge gob of phlegm hit the sand. Fenris collapsed against him, gasping for air.

“Good job,” Anders murmured, sending calming tendrils of healing into the heaving chest.

As he caught his breath, Fenris spoke.

“Your demon... came for me... in the water.”

“I nearly drowned, trying to reach you. He saved us both.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, he felt your death would be unjust. He has a vested interest in your well-being.”

“Is that good... or bad?”

Anders chuckled. “Good.”

“That... remains... to....” And then, he was asleep against Anders’ chest, head tucked under his chin. 

He was suddenly struck by Fenris’ vulnerability. Anders knew he was a strong, capable man, and exceptional warrior. Wearing armor and a scowl, he cut an imposing figure. Yet, holding him as he slept, his slight frame seemed more frail than it was. His shoulder blades, pressed against his chest, were almost delicate. Certainly, his state of undress accounted for part of this impression, but it was more than that. 

His shame at his own actions, his dismay at echoing Danarius... it bespoke a man with greater depth than the surly, close-minded bigot Anders thought he knew. It revealed a man with fear, and regret, and pain. Anders sighed, and gently moved off the cot, settling the sleeping elf back against the pile of bedding. He tucked the blankets around him, and resumed his bedside vigil.

“You’re almost through this,” he murmured. “Just hang in there.”

He jerked awake.

“Forgive me, Master....”

Fenris was asleep, head rolling fitfully. 

“Master... I beg you... the pain....”

 _Maker’s breath._ Anders shook him gently. “Hey, wake up... you’re safe. Wake up....”

Jolting awake, Fenris’ hand patted at the blankets, searching. Anders slid his arm into reach, and felt him take hold. Just judging by the grip, he was gaining some strength. 

“Forgive me.”

“Fenris? You awake?”

“For attacking you. For the things I said. Forgive me.”

“Forget about it.”

“I cannot.”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. But, I can breathe. You are changing the subject.”

“You’ve been drowning in guilt as much as fluid, all night. I accept your apology. Just... don’t fall back into the darkness. Don’t let it take hold of you, again.”

“You know of the darkness?”

“More than most. You say you want to live?”

“I do.”

“Then cast off this guilt and melancholy. I pardon any crime you feel you’ve committed against me. Let it go.”

“You forgive so easily. You... with a demon in your soul.”

“That demon is the better of the two beings in my body. Remember, he’s the one who decided we should help you.”

Fenris was quiet, thinking. “So, you do not wish to help me. It is the demon’s influence.”

“Wrong. I do want to help you; very much. The demon’s influence is just what keeps me from killing you when you act like a complete git.”

The elf’s shocked expression was priceless. Then, it slowly formed the closest thing to a smile Anders had ever seen on his face.

“I think we’ve got this thing on the run. I’m going to do a little healing, if you’ve no objections.” At Fenris’ nod, blue light lit up the elf’s body.

“Your magic is... pleasant,” came the surprising comment.

“Think so?”

Fenris nodded.

“Well, it’s healing magic. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

“Danarius’ magic felt like daggers of burning ice.”

“That’s... really awful. Though, I’m impressed with your sensitivity. Not all mages can feel others’ magic so clearly.”

“The markings accentuate it.”

“What does your magic feel like, to you?”

“Foul.”

“To me, it’s... furry, and playful. Like a kitten.”

“A... kitten?”

“With boundless energy.”

Fenris didn’t answer. They watched as the sky began to lighten, stars winking out as gold rose above the horizon. Anders was exhausted, more than he’d ever been. But, he was confident Fenris would live, with healthy lungs. He just needed a few more passes with healing magic. And, a lot of sleep.

“Mage.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming for me in the water. For staying with me, afterward.”

“You’re welcome.” Anders carefully slid his arm out of his grip, and stood. His spine popped as he stretched in a huge yawn.

“You have exhausted yourself, helping me.”

“We’re both pretty beat.”

Fenris stared out over the cove, thinking. “You fell asleep in the water, yesterday.”

“I didn’t realize you couldn’t swim. I wouldn’t have gone so far out, had I known.”

“Mage....”

“Yes?”

“The things I did, yesterday... the things I said....”

“I told you... forget about it.”

“I cannot. They were unwarranted. You have come here at great inconvenience to yourself and your work. You have tried to aide me, and I have responded poorly.”

“You weren’t yourself. Even if you were, you’re mortal, and you’ll make mistakes. But, magic leaves little room for mistakes. It’s always right there... just a gesture away. And, that makes it tempting to use in a moment of anger or fear. Whether you throw an insult, or a fireball, is all a matter of self-control.”

Fenris nodded. “This is why I have always said magic is dangerous. It is a power too easily abused. Apparently... even by me.”

“You’re not used to having this power at your fingertips. And, I know you normally have admirable self-control.” 

“I left normal behind, months ago.”

“No argument, here.”

“However, there remains the problem of both our exhaustion.”

“Well, until you can keep your magic controlled, we just need to work around it.”

“You have the collar.”

“If you think I’m going near you with that thing, you’re crazier than I thought.”

“Must it be worn on my neck, to be effective?”

“I’m not entirely sure. If it’s like suppression collars, it just needs to have the majority of it in contact with you. Why do you ask?”

“If it could be worn elsewhere--my ankle, perhaps--I might be able to tolerate it. Just during the night... so we can sleep. I hate it for what it meant to me as a slave. But... it does not follow that it must be used so, now. It could redeem itself in this way.”

Anders appreciated the degree of both desperation, and personal strength, Fenris was displaying. 

“I leave it entirely up to you. I ask only that you give your lungs until this evening before trying. Deep sleep will allow your lungs to slacken.”

Fenris nodded. 

“Mage.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know the Maker?”

“We’re not as close as we used to be.”

“Do you know a prayer of gratitude?”

“Short of thank the Maker, I just quote whatever verse I can remember.”

“Speak one... please.”

Anders thought a moment, then nodded. “It’s not exactly a prayer of gratitude, but I think it’s appropriate to the occasion.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_What You have created, no one can tear asunder._

Fenris was quiet, and Anders thought he’d fallen asleep. Then, he spoke.

“That was utterly appropriate. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drowning/near-drowning doesn't always stop, once out of the water and breathing. It can continue through a variety of mechanisms, ARDS and pneumonia being most common.
> 
> I've soothed many patients through respiratory distress. Fenris' words and behavior were common to most of them.
> 
> We know Justice can carry Anders through fatal injury (re: Jennifer Hepler's _Anders (short story)_ ).


	9. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the storm, comes peace. The men make tentative overtures toward understanding.

In the hours following sunrise, a fledgling peace grew between them. Fragile, fueled by the understanding of shared trauma; bolstered by the connection of healer and patient. Conversation was oddly free. Their words lacked the defensive bite and caustic tone of before. Sarcasm gave way to humor; accusation to inquiry. Perhaps it wouldn’t last, but for now, the gentle understanding was welcome.

Fenris liked the verse Anders chose to recite. For a terrible darkness _had_ come upon him, even before he’d sunk to the bottom of the sea. And somehow, he’d endured. Fenris had no faith in the Maker; yet against all odds, he was still alive. Warm in the nest Anders had created for him, the rising sun warm on his face, clean ocean air filling his lungs; Fenris let himself drift. He had, indeed, weathered the storm.

He recalled most of it with surprising clarity. Their argument, his attack on the mage, his shame. For the first time, he’d been ready to take his own life. And, then his life was nearly taken from him. He’d faced death countless times, yet he’d never felt the kind of fear he had in those few, endless moments at the bottom of the sea.

Things got murky from there. Bits and pieces of Anders’ efforts to bring him to shore; the long day and night being assured he would not die. Being touched without pain. Magic which soothed rather than tormented. Fenris knew healing him through the night had been trying and tiring, yet Anders’ dedication never flagged. He had treated Fenris with respect and consideration through the entire ordeal.

He was tired, yet not debilitatingly so. Anders said he’d slept a fair amount during the prolonged healing, and such concentrated healing magic can have a regenerative effect. And, with luck, they’d get some actual sleep, tonight. 

His eyes opened when a cacophony echoed across the beach. Flocks of birds had converged over the waters of the cove. They swooped and dove and swam in a frenzy. He was startled by the mage’s voice.

“I threw together something easy. Take small bites and swallow thoughtfully. I’d rather you didn’t choke and cough.”

A cloth-wrapped package landed on his lap; dried fruit, cheese and a skin of fresh spring water.

“What’s happening out there?” he asked. Anders looked at the mass of birds.

“Wow, look at that. Be right back.” 

As he walked toward the water, Fenris saw his tunic was on backward, and sand was clumped into the back of his hair, from passing out on the beach. Truly, he'd not taken a moment from Fenris’ care to even notice his own state of being.

He returned shortly, and picked up his own bundle of food. “The water’s full of dead fish."

"Why?"

"Well, do you know how I knew you were drowning?”

“No.”

“Your magic pulsed... strong enough it almost knocked me off my rock. I think you killed every fish in the cove with some sort of blast.”

He was stymied. “I did that?”

“Apparently. There’s gonna be a stink until it clears off.” 

Anders looked thoughtful as he ate. Fenris didn’t want to know what he was thinking, because he was sure it was about his magic, and he didn’t want to hear any more about it. He knew what he’d done, yesterday. Add that to killing an entire population of marine life; such power should not exist. He _had_ to control it. 

“Gah! I’m a mess!”

He glanced at Anders, scratching the clumps of sand out of his hair.

“You’re tunic’s on backward, as well.”

“Well, I had more important things on my mind.”

“Luckily for me. I’d have died, but for you.”

“Fenris... you _did_ die.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Your heart ceased beating. That I was able to quicken it, is nothing short of a miracle.”

He stared at the mage in awe. _He’d been dead?_ Dead and brought back to life? Not as a mindless corpse, but alive, as himself. Had he ever heard of such a thing, even in Tevinter? He’d understood Anders was a powerful healer... he hadn’t realized how powerful.

“May I ask a question?” Anders asked gently.

“After giving me life? Ask anything you wish.”

“What was it like?”

“What?”

“Dying.”

He thought a moment. He wasn’t comfortable describing what he’d experienced, yet if anyone should hear it, it was the one who’d made it possible.

“It was... painful. My lungs felt like fire. But, even that was nothing to the fear.” He watched the birds above the cove. “I’ve faced death, many times, yet this was terrifying. I knew I was dying, and I was helpless against it. I was... it was....”

“You don’t have to--”

He shook his head. “I want to. I don’t know how.”

They were both quiet a moment, watching the birds circling. 

“Healers tell stories of people who’ve nearly died, or died and came back,” Anders said. “Some see the Light of the Golden City... or loved ones, who’ve died before them.”

Fenris frowned. He remembered... _something._ A memory of a memory.

“I saw something. Memories, I think. I can’t remember, now.” 

“That's rotten. You should get at least that much, after what you went through.”

“How did you do it? Return life to my body? I’ve never heard of such powerful healing magic.” 

“It wasn’t healing magic. I used a little electricity trick.”

Fenris looked at him in confusion. “I understood your electricity trick was sexual in nature.”

Anders chuckled. “That’s just a parlor stunt. My _true_ electricity trick is something I learned from a hedge mage during one of my escapes; a modified lightning spell to rekindle your heart. It’s difficult, and it doesn’t always work. Maker... I’m glad it worked.”

Fenris nodded, impressed by the knowledge Anders possessed. And, freely dispensed, without thought of personal gain. In Tevinter, any mage with such abilities would use them to garner wealth, power, and recognition. Yet, Anders sought none of those. 

“Thank you,” he said, then shook his head. “That is insufficient. I don’t have words to properly express my gratitude.”

“Those were fine. And, you’re welcome.”

They spent the day dozing. Anders brought Fenris’ cot out of the cave, and did his best to fit into the too-short sleeping roll. 

“We can trade beds back, mage.”

“No. You’re comfortable over there, with your back rest and all. We’ll trade back, tomorrow. Besides, there’s a body-weight of sand in that bed.”

“I rather enjoy it.”

Anders barked a surprised laugh. “Now, how could I ask you to give that up?”

Fenris noticed an important change, as he dozed off and on. The darkness that had filled his thoughts since arriving, was gone. Instead, he felt hope... a renewed interest in life. He felt no better about possessing magic, but he believed he could learn to control it. He’d made some progress, even with his mind as skewed as it had been. Surely, it would be easier, now. 

When his magic woke the dozing men, and Anders drained his mana, he took a few moments to appreciate their surroundings. The sky and breeze refreshed him. The noise of the birds squabbling reminded him of the Lowtown market. He also felt an unexpected rapport with the mage beside him. Perhaps not so unexpected, given recent events.

“Drink some water,” Anders murmured from his cot. “You’re dehydrated.”

“How can you tell, from there?”

“Because, you haven’t gotten up to pee.”

“Because I’ve not gotten up, it does not necessarily follow I’m not peeing.”

Another surprised laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t save you, after all. Perhaps your corpse has been possessed by a Spirit of Humor.”

“Perhaps I’m serious about pissing your bed.”

“Keep in mind I’m in your bedroll, and, two can play that game.” A water skin landed on his lap. “Drink.”

As evening fell, and stars winked on, he watched the larger moon rise. It was nearly full, and shone a path across the water. He felt the mage’s eyes on him as he contemplated the golden orb.

“You feeling alright?”

“How is it, no matter what befalls mankind, no matter the trials and travails of mortals, the moons never change? The stars, the sun, the moons... all unblemished in the face of centuries of upheaval.”

Anders considered the question before replying. “They are the Maker’s own. Neither does He change in man’s foibles.”

Fenris grunted. “Yet, the Golden City was blackened by the ancient magisters.”

“Yeah... I don’t buy that rot.”

He looked at him in surprise. “Is it not in the Chant? Even I have heard that much.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, son.”

“Son?”

Anders chuckled. “I’m quoting my father. Look, the darkspawn live in the Deep Roads. They respond to the call of the Old Gods. Why would we think they have anything to do with people--or the Maker--at all?”

“You could make the rounds of Tevinter spring salons, telling that story.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence the people the Chantry blames are the same ones they’re trying to oppress.”

“Such is the nature of mages. They always want more. They destroy all around them, even so far as the Maker’s home, in the search for power.”

“Not _all_ mages.”

“Perhaps not. Yet, it doesn’t take _all_ mages. Look what those seven did. Look at what Danarius did, even in his small world. The lives he destroyed, the people crushed under his heal.”

“Danarius is a sick, twisted, bastard. Don’t measure all mages by his actions.”

“Alright. How about by Hadriana’s? Or, Quentin’s? Remember Decimus? Or, Tarohne?”

“Yes, yes, you’re right about all of those. Yet, I could hold up dozens of good mages to every bad one. They are not the norm.”

Fenris didn’t answer. He didn’t want to argue with Anders. Not right now, anyway.

Their first solid night’s sleep made all the difference in the world. It hadn’t been easy to wrap the collar around his ankle. His stomach lurched just to hold it. Anders had hesitatingly offered to help him, after he’d dropped it twice. He knew he’d answered sharply, but _he_ would control this thing; it would serve _his purpose._ Once on, it wasn’t so bad. Wrapped twice around his ankle, it didn’t look like a collar. It looked like a decorative boot buckle.

And, the payoff for suffering its presence? 

Sleep. Blessed, deep, uninterrupted sleep. His eyes had fallen shut while gazing at the stars. They didn’t open again until the sun had taken their place. _A full night of sleep._ He felt reborn. His thoughts were clearer than they’d been in weeks.

He turned toward Anders, and saw he still slept, sprawled on his belly, snoring softly. The cots were too small for his long frame. One hand trailed in the sand, and his feet overhung the end of the bed. The early morning sun highlighted the signs of his exhaustion. Deep shadows ringed his eyes, and he had a thicker growth of beard than his usual stubble. His red-gold hair was in a state of dishabille; sticking up at odd angles, tangled from the salt water that had dried on it. 

Fenris sat up, and looked at the collar on his ankle. He’d leave it on until they were both awake, and had a chance to wash-up. He stood and stretched, a wonderful, jaw-cracking yawn that filled his lungs without a tickle of a cough. 

A sleepy voice asked, “How do you feel?”

How did he feel? Alive. Fortunate. Blessed.

“Fine. You?”

“Better. I really want a bath. And good, strong, black tea.”

“Do we have tea?”

“No idea. There’s a lot of supplies we haven’t delved into.”

A bath came courtesy of Anders heating the entire fresh-water spring to a steaming, warm temperature. As the water cycled out, it took soap and dirt with it. Fenris scrubbed himself raw, digging his nails into skin and hair. He’d never gone so long without some sort of clean-up. He put on a clean set of clothes, and reveled in the fresh feeling. Being rested, clean, and healthy was a luxury he’d never again take for granted. 

Rummaging in the supply crates, they discovered there _was_ black tea... and sugar. Both preferred it strong and sweet. As they ate a hearty meal, he thought about all that had transpired. This new, positive outlook was somewhat unsettling. He’d never been an optimist. Slavery precludes hope. It felt strange. 

He noticed Anders scrutinizing him.

“Have I gone green?” he asked.

“No. Though, you went blue yesterday.”

He slurped his tea. It had never tasted so delicious. 

“You seem... I don’t know. You’re still breathing alright?”

“Be at ease, mage. I feel fine.”

“Still thinking about yesterday?”

“Are you always so inquisitive?”

“My mother always said I left no question unasked.”

Fenris grunted. He believed it.

“Well... when your magic pops up, again, we’ll see how a good night’s sleep affects your performance. Too bad about the dead fish in the cove. I’d love a swim.”

Sleep apparently did great things for his performance. He was able to mold it to his will much more effectively. His bolts improved in distance and strength. 

“Wow. I’m impressed. You’re like a new man. I think you’re going to progress much more quickly. How does it feel, to you?”

“My magic feels easier to manage.”

Anders ducked his head, but Fenris saw a grin spread over his face.

“What? Why are you laughing at me?”

The mage shook his head, still smiling. “That’s the first time you’ve ever called it _your_ magic. I’m not laughing at you; I’m rejoicing with you.”

“I... thank you.”

“Come on... let’s divvy up our beds. I’d like my pillow back. And, my sand-filled bedroll.”

Although Anders said his lungs were fine, and he could sleep in the cave again, Fenris left his cot where it was. Even with the cool breeze at night, it was warmer than the cave. And, though he would never admit it, he was finding Anders’ company... agreeable. They’d had several conversations that had been pleasant, even engaging. Both men avoided the topics which led to disagreement. 

Although he was improving with his magic, he balked when Anders cast a shield for Fenris to practice shooting bolts at him.

“Why not? We’ve done this, before.”

“I will not attack you, again.”

“When you fall off a horse, you have to get right back in the saddle.”

“I have not fallen from a horse. Is this your father speaking, again? Who is teaching me, you or him?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Pshhh. He hates magic as much as you. Look, I can’t gauge your bolts’ strength if you’re aiming at a tree.”

“It reminds me of when I lost control. I don’t like it.” 

“Good. It’s a lesson learned. Now, get back on the damned horse, and hit me with some bolts! Do you have any idea how many people would love to knock me on my ass? You’re blowing a great opportunity, here.”

Fenris looked at the smirking mage, and shook his head. He couldn’t get over Anders’ manner. He continued to be patient, calm, and praiseful. But now, Fenris could appreciate it for what it was, without the paranoia that had clouded his mind. 

Even so, it was strange to think this was the same man Fenris had known in Kirkwall. They’d spent spent most of their association in argument. Yet Hawke, Isabela, and Varric all liked Anders. Perhaps they’d all seen something Fenris hadn’t. Or, hadn’t been willing to.

Now they didn’t need to sleep every available moment of the day, they explored other activities between practice sessions. Anders had books and journals, and spent time reading on his cot. And, once the dead fish finally cleared away, he ventured back into the water. He began more adventuresome antics than simply swimming. Fenris nearly panicked the first time he’d looked up to see Anders standing high on a pillar of columnar basalt, in the middle of the cove. Without warning, he’d launched himself into a graceful arc over the water. Arms swinging into a spear-point, he fell head first, knifing cleanly into the water.

It took a while for him to surface, by which time, Fenris rushed to the waterline, no idea what to do. The damnable mage came up grinning, sweeping his hair off of this face. He saw Fenris standing there, and waved. Then, proceeded to swim back to the pillar, climb the stair-like columns, and do it again. Realizing Anders was in no danger, he’d returned to his cot, grumbling about foolhardy mages.

Unable to read, write, or swim, Fenris occupied himself by tearing apart the emptied packing crates, salvaging the materials, and putting them to new use. He put shelves in the alcove to hold their supplies. He built a low table, and put it near the fire ring they’d made on the beach. He also added extensions to the mage’s cot, making it long and wide enough to hold his frame. He watched in amusement the first time Anders sat on it, following its revision. It took him a few minutes to realize something had changed. When he did, he went through a comical process of searching for the difference, until he finally flipped the whole thing over, and found the new wood of the addition.

“You did this?” He asked with a confused expression.

“I did that.”

“That’s... very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’ll be nice to really stretch-out. My muscles are sore from swimming.”

“Why do you swim?”

“It beats the alternative, as you well know.”

“Ha ha.”

Anders shrugged. “I don’t know, it feels peaceful. It reminds me of when I was a boy, swimming in the pond with my friends. It just feels good.”

“I have only one memory of being in water. It did not feel good.”

“I could teach you to swim, if you want. It’s not very hard.”

Fenris was intrigued by the offer. As wary as he was of the water, he would much prefer to defeat it than fear it.

“Perhaps.”

“Just let me know. We have plenty of time.”

It was true, they did. Time flowed languidly in their seclusion. Nothing needed to be rushed, very little work needed done, besides magic training. Slow afternoons were spent in the shade of the tree. Conversations begun one day might be resumed the next as though never interrupted. Conversations which might discuss the shape of leaves in the north versus the south, or the relative merits of edged and bludgeoning weapons. 

“I’ve been thinking, since you threw Hawke across the room....”

“And...?” He’d learned the mage thought a lot. About a great deal. He was far more intelligent and perceptive than he’d ever imagined. 

“And, about the blizzard on the beach....”

“Why must you bring up either?”

“And, the fish you killed in the cove....”

“Please come to your point.”

“I thought Hawke and the fish were both your lyrium pulse. But, each event was too powerful for that. And, I thought the blizzard was your ice magic; but, the ice came later, after the sand and wind.”

“Do I want to know where you’re going with this?”

“I think you might be a force mage, as well as elemental.”

 _“Fasta vass.”_ He scowled. 

“What?”

“Half the mages in Tevinter practice force magic. The other half necromancy and entropy. Why must I become more like them, at every turn?”

“Well, you _were_ trained there, after all. And it's not just Tevinter. There’s a lot of force mages in the Gallows, too.”

“That does not help. If that's the case, however, how do you explain the arcane bolts?”

“You can cross-train in any of the schools of magic. Fire and Spirit Healing are my dominant spell groups, but I also use spells from creation, healing, force... a dabble from others. Then, there’s talents Justice lends.”

Fenris sighed. “I’m never going to get everything under control, am I?”

“Sure you will. Even with sleep deprivation, you learned bolts much faster than I’d have thought. You don’t have to learn _everything_ in a school, just enough to control the outbursts.”

“I prefer my sword. It has never jumped off my back and attacked at random.”

Anders laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Although, I’ve seen it knock things off shelves, in tight quarters.”

“And, your staff doesn’t?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course, I don’t really need a staff. Although... you really don’t need a blade, either. You can penetrate someone’s heart, barehanded. I suppose your blade makes block and parry easier, than your own limbs.”

“You sound as though you’ve experience with non-magical weapons.”

“My father taught me to use a quarter staff.”

“Your father was a warrior? I thought you lived on a farm.”

Anders grinned. “You have a good memory. He was a farmer... from the Anderfels.”

“Ah. Harsh country, with little law. Most common folk use weapons.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been there. Danarius visited Hossberg, and some of the more notable artwork in outlying areas. Very inhospitable. Did you spend any time there?”

“No, I was born in Ferelden. Do you know where you were born?”

Fenris shrugged. “Possibly Seheron. Danarius once mentioned I’d come from there.”

“Have you been there, in your memory?”

“Yes. This place reminds me of it, in some ways. The warmth, the smell of the ocean. The island has jungles, and flowers. And, delicious fruit.” And, brave and noble men. He sighed.

“Sounds like you enjoyed it.”

“Some of it.”

Whenever his magic manifested, they worked with it. He could only do so for so long before he tired. He was actually able to exhaust himself at it, now. He was fast losing his squeamishness about connecting with it, though he still didn’t care to. As he struggled with reeling the escaped energy back in, Anders tried to help him past his reticence. 

“Your dislike of magic is holding you back from truly connecting with it. Remember, our magic is no different than our skin, or blood, or limbs. It’s part of you. It belongs to you.”

Fenris scowled. He knew this. He didn’t like it, but he knew it.

“It’ll get easier. The more you work with it, the less revulsion you’ll feel.” 

Fenris tried to purposely view his magic as simply part of his body, as Anders had described. He’d done the same with the markings, after all. 

It was a long, tiring session, but in the end, he’d managed to decrease the amount of energy escaping his body. He’d felt it begin to return to his core, as he exerted his will upon it. Anders was effusive in his praise, and Fenris accepted it gladly. He’d worked hard, and was worn out. For the first time in weeks, he took a nap. 

The sun was midway down the sky, in the hottest time of the afternoon, and the breeze was warm. He dozed in the shifting shade surrounding their cots. He was again reminded of Seheron, and his short time with the Fog Warriors. 

He sighed, and opened his eyes to look at the cove before him. In spite of killing him in its depths, it was still beautiful. If Fenris was overcoming his revulsion of the magic within him, perhaps he could learn to overcome his fear of the water. 

Movement caught his eye. Silhouetted against the sun, Anders stood tall at the top of his diving rock, hair blowing about his face. He balanced on his toes at the edge of the pillar, and pushed off, soaring into the air. Fenris’ mind captured him, suspended with arms outstretched, like a great bird, just before he began to fall. In that instant, he looked as though he would simply soar away, at last finding the freedom he’d sought for so long.

The instant passed, and Anders arched down into the water, and disappeared. Fenris waited, knowing he would resurface. He did, shaking water from his head in a spray of glimmering droplets, a bright grin across his face. With a flash of insight, Fenris understood why Anders enjoyed diving from such heights. For just that split second as he leapt from the rock, Anders was free.

And, if there was one thing Fenris could get behind, it was freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World of Thedas vol. 1 says magic cannot be used "to bring a dead person back to life." In this case, Anders didn't use _magic._ He used electricity to defibrillate Fenris, as learned from a hedge mage. WoT v1 also says, "Hedge mages have been known to possess unusual, sometimes previously unseen abilities." 
> 
> Studies of near-death experiences show a consistent set of changes in those who've experienced it. Including a greater appreciation for life, greater compassion for others, heightened sense of purpose, etc.
> 
> The one thing Anders and Fenris have always had in common: freedom.


	10. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than magic is learned in the cove. Anders and Fenris are surprised how much they learn from one another.

“That’s good... perfect... just like that....”

The elf’s body was pliant, at ease, as Anders’ fingers ghosted along his skin. 

“How does it feel?” he asked, watching Fenris’ face carefully. Eyes closed, mouth relaxed, he seemed comfortable.

“Good. You are doing much more to facilitate this than I.”

“No. This is all you. You’re floating.”

Fenris’ eyes snapped open, his body tensed, and he sank. Anders caught him before his head went underwater. Not that he had far to sink; they were only thigh deep, with a long expanse of sand between them and the drop-off. 

Fenris had accepted his offer to teach him to swim. Anders wasn’t surprised. Water was an adversary for the elf, and Fenris always met his adversaries head-on. It had been delicate work, regardless of his determination. Even in the shallows, he was nervous. Convincing him to put his head under water had taken much soothing and many false starts. 

Anders knelt beside him in the water, wrist clasped in the elf’s hand. The first time they’d entered the water together, Fenris had taken hold this way, and it became the norm for swimming lessons. What had begun as a panicked grasp following his drowning, had become a source of comfort for the elf. Anders wasn’t sure Fenris was aware how often he reached out. But, reach he did.

Now they were sleeping at night, Fenris had begun dreaming. And, the type of dreams he suffered through were painfully apparent. Twitching, sweating, mumbling... the elf fought unknown horrors in the Fade. Not entirely unknown, as _master_ was a word Anders frequently heard. 

And, while suffering in his dreams, Fenris reached for him. It took Anders a while to understand what was happening. The flailing hand, patting along his blanket or reaching into the space between their cots, had seemed part of the dream. Until the time he’d caught the searching hand, and witnessed the resultant calm.

Clearly, Fenris’ sleeping mind associated their contact with the comfort it provided after drowning. Once he had Anders' hand or wrist in his grip, he relaxed, the dream losing it’s hold and allowing him to find restful sleep. Anders didn’t mention it. He simply moved their cots closer, to make reaching him easier. It was a small enough thing to provide for a man with such torment in his past.

“Why do I sink when I open my eyes?” Fenris asked.

“It’s not your eyes, it’s you tensing up. A lot of swimming is letting your body relax.”

“It feels unnatural, to float.”

“It’s very natural. Most animals swim." 

“I am not natural.”

Anders realized how loaded that statement was. “You’re just as natural as... anyone else.”

“You almost said, as natural as you, didn’t you? Are you not natural?”

“Well... I think I may have lost that distinction.”

“You mean the demon.”

Anders sat back on his heels, arms floating idly on the water. “No, I don’t mean Justice. I mean the taint. Nothing’s natural about darkspawn.”

“I’d not considered that. I often forget you’re a Warden.”

“You and me, both. I can pretty much ignore it, if there’s no darkspawn around.”

“Yet, you do not believe being an abomination is unnatural?”

“Spirits are as much the Maker’s creations as mankind. The joining is problematic, but it’s not necessarily unnatural.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t agree?”

“You know I don’t. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know... I suppose not. I’d like you to see Justice as something other than a demon. It bothered him to be called one, before we joined.”

“I knew you had known it when it possessed a corpse. I didn’t realize it had... feelings and opinions.”

Anders laughed. “Oh, Maker. Did he ever! Righteous, uncompromising opinions. And yes, he had feelings, too.”

Anders watched Fenris mull it over. He was developing an appreciation for the elf’s careful consideration of all things.

“Tell me about the demon, before you joined with it. I have wondered how you, with the willpower to become an accomplished mage, and Grey Warden, came to such a... questionable decision.”

Anders was surprised by his interest. “Alright, I’ll tell you while you try floating, again. You’re getting the hang of it.”

Fenris grasped his arm and leaned back, waiting for Anders to position his hands under his back. Then, he lifted his feet, closed his eyes, and allowed his body to balance on the surface of the water. 

Anders told the tale of meeting the Spirit of Justice in the Fade, and of their violent expulsion. Of Justice finding himself in the corpse of a dead Warden.

“It hadn’t intended to leave the Fade?” He sounded surprised.

“Not at all. Spirits are content with their existence in the Fade. Demons are the ones who want to cross over.”

“And, it hadn’t possessed the corpse willingly?” 

“He sort of... fell in it, I guess. He was as surprised as we were.” He went on to tell of the spirit's decision to help the Wardens, of his questions about the physical world, and the injustices he found.

Fenris was intrigued. “It thought your cat was enslaved?”

“Yes. And, slavery is unjust. I’ve assume that’s why he was dead-set on my assisting you. You were a slave, and now you’re a mage. You need a double serving of justice.”

“You assume? Does it no longer speak to you?”

“Not with words. I sense his thoughts and emotions. If I do or think something he doesn’t agree with, I get a very clear sense of disapproval.” He shifted his fingers under Fenris' back, so he barely touched the elf. 

Anders chuckled. “Actually, he gave a very clear sense of disapproval when he was on his own, too. Self-righteous prig, that’s what I thought. You should have heard him go on about how I needed to do more than avoid the oppression of the Circle. How I should fight for _all_ mages. How my apathy was a weakness.”

“There was a time when you _didn’t_ concern yourself with the plight of mages?”

“Sure. It took some time before I really heard what he was saying. I mean, he was always harping about justice, to everybody. He was all justice, all the time. Although...you know, he was actually pretty sweet about Kristof’s widow. He felt bad that possessing Kristof’s corpse upset her.”

“It... felt badly for that?”

“Yeah. He actually asked her how he could make amends.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all. She told him to avenge her husband’s death. And, he did... he helped destroy the darkspawn faction responsible.”

Fenris was quiet. Anders could almost see the cogs turning. “Yet, you call it a self-righteous prig.”

“He was. He could be real pain in the ass.”

“If it irritated you so much, why did you take it into you?”

“Well, like I said, it took a while for me to see his point of view.”

“And, you were certain it was not simply a demon, gaining the trust of its intended victim?”

Anders laughed, pulling one hand from under Fenris’ back. “You should have heard his indignation when I compared spirits and demons.” He deepened his voice in imitation of the spirit; “I am not a demon. Demons have been perverted by their desires. I have no such desires!”

“Because it said so, does not make it true.”

“You really are the suspicious-type, aren’t you?”

“It’s kept me alive.”

Anders couldn’t deny that. “True. If you’d met him, you’d understand better.”

“If I’d met it, I’d have killed it.”

“That would’ve been some battle. He was a formidable warrior, even with his body falling apart around him.”

“It was sentient, in a rotting corpse, yet did not simply leave it for another body?”

“See? That’s what I’m saying! You know, I heard him talking to Nate a lot. I’ve always wondered why he didn’t approach him, instead of me.”

“So, it _did_ approach you with an offer.”

Anders slowly pulled his other hand away. Fenris, eyes closed and absorbed in the tale, was unaware he was floating.

“Sort of. Eventually. After we’d fought the Battle of Amaranthine, we continued serving together. He was decomposing. He was going to need a new body. And... things he spoke of, regarding justice for mages... began to sink in. I realized he was right. I’d been selfish, and needed to rectify a terrible wrong. I wanted to serve the greater good.”

“Being a Grey Warden wasn’t service enough?”

“No, it wasn’t. The Blight was over, the darkspawn incursion had been stopped. Yet, mages were still suffering in the Circles. And, letters from Karl told how bad things were in the Gallows. I could no longer ignore the plight of mages. When Justice approached, and asked if I had the courage to accept his aid, I was ready.”

“You did this with full awareness? It did not muddle your mind, or try to sway you?”

“He did not. If I’d said no, he’d have accepted it. But, I knew together we could achieve so much more. We could bring all mages justice.”

“And you’re sure freeing them is how to do that? The Circles prevent the South from becoming another Tevinter. Look at my body, and see what free mages are capable of. Is this the justice you seek?”

Anders looked at the markings burned into his flesh. They wound about his body, barely a handspan untouched. Makers’ breath, even his manhood had lyrium burned into it. 

“The man who did this to you is a monster. But, how many othes would do such a thing?”

“Several. I am not the first such warrior to be created, and I will certainly not be the last. Quentin was not the first to have performed such atrocities as took Leandra. And, Gascard stood ready to follow in his footsteps. There will always be mages willing to do the forbidden, and unthinkable. Southern Circles prevent that.”

Anders thought carefully before replying. This was the sort of topic which led to so many arguments.

“No, Fenris, they don’t. The mages being harmed by the Circles, far outnumber the mages doing harm outside them. The entire system, from the Divine to the lowliest templar recruit, has failed to the point corruption is consuming the Circles. Fenris, you saw it! And, if you chose not to submit yourself to that corruption, how can you consign all other mages to suffer it? Yes, there are monsters who possess magic, just as there are monsters without it. But, should the innocent pay for the crimes of the guilty? Is _that_ justice?” 

Fenris was quiet so long, Anders feared their peace was at an end Then he replied. 

“Not _all_ mages should be free of the Circle. Not _all_ mages can be trusted.”

Anders was floored. It was a relatively small concession, but for the elf, it was beyond expectation. He was filled with elation. He lay back in the water, floating beside him.

“Fenris... open your eyes.”

He watched as he blinked in the sunlight. When he realized he was no longer supported, he momentarily lost his balance. Then, he relaxed, and floated comfortably beside him.

“Nicely done,” Anders said. 

“We can all learn, given the chance.”

Fenris certainly could learn. Between magic and swimming, he was taking control of that which had controlled him. As days passed, he progressed with both.

“Good. Keep at it. You’re doing it.”

Anders both felt and observed as Fenris wrangled his magic. The shroud of violet energy visibly shrank. The chaos within him calmed. Then... there was nothing.

Fenris’ eyes opened in surprise. “I did it.”

Anders nodded. “You did it.”

There was a delight in the green eyes he hadn’t seen before. “I pulled it in.”

“Yes, you did. Now, it’s going to slip out, shortly. Don’t be discouraged. This is a major step in your training. You’re on your way.”

As the corners of Fenris’ mouth curved up, the light purple haze formed about him, again. Anders couldn’t help snickering at the disgusted look Fenris gave his magic. 

Swimming came a little easier. It wasn’t long before Anders was leading him further out to tread water. As the top of his head only came to Anders’ chin, it was easy to walk him to the ideal depth, and support him.

“Stay with me.” Both Fenris’ hands were clasped about Anders’ arms.

“I’m right here. If your head goes under, hold your breath. I'll bring you up.”

He learned to tread water more easily than floating. He was a physical being who did better in motion than a relaxed state.

“But, I'm not going anywhere,” he said, treading easily. 

Anders chuckled. “You’re not supposed to. Treading water lets you hold your position, and rest, without sinking.”

“Oh. This is what you do, when you’re far out, and I see only your head?”

“Sometimes. There’s also a lot of submerged rocks to stand on. Want me to take you to one?”

“No. Yes. How?” 

He chuckled at the elf’s decisive indecision. “Float on your front, facing me, and I’ll tow you out.”

“No. Yes. Not too far.”

Fenris faced him, placed his hands on his shoulders, and Anders pushed away from the bottom. Fenris floated easily, legs trailing behind him. 

“This is how you brought me to shore, after I drowned.”

“Sort of. This is much easier than that time.”

“Your beard is growing thick.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Much to my annoyance. I forgot my razor, and a hot beach is not the place I want to grow a beard.”

“You could burn it off.”

“You're nuts.”

“Set fire to it, then heal the burns when it’s done.”

“You've got to be kidding me... you _are_ kidding me. Maker’s breath, you’ve got a dark streak.”

“You _think_ I’m kidding.” 

Anders took them to a rock nearby that let them stand chest deep. 

“Put your feet down. There you go.”

Fenris stood, taking his wrist in hand. Anders watched him, wondering if he’d recognize this spot. 

The elf returned his gaze. “What?”

Anders nodded at the water in front of them.

“That’s where you died.”

Fenris looked into the clear depths with wide eyes, grip tightening. Anders could just make-out the bottom, far below. He glanced up at the somber elf.

“You alright?”

Fenris nodded, still gazing into the water. Then, he looked down at the rock under their feet. 

“Then, this....”

“... is where you lived, again.”

Fenris nodded. “It is strange. To hear you say I died, yet stand here, alive.”

“Not many can say it.”

Fenris looked at him pointedly. “Not many could make it possible.”

Anders shrugged. “I’m just grateful I could.”

“Grateful to whom? You no longer believe in the Maker.”

“That’s not true. In fact, I’m pretty sure He had a hand in this.”

Fenris grunted. “If He was going to take a sudden interest in me, He chose a good day.”

Anders chuckled.

“Take me further.”

“As you wish.”

They came to a platform Anders often visited. It was shallow, the water just covering his lap when he sat upon it. He assisted Fenris up, then joined him. As soon as he sat, his wrist was taken, again.

“You alright? We came a little further than I’d anticipated.”

“I’m fine. I wish to overcome this unease.”

“You don’t do anything by half-measures, do you?”

“I prefer to confront my fears.”

“I’ve noticed.” 

“What do you fear?”

“Me? Lots of things. Tranquility. Confined spaces.”

“That’s why you won’t sleep in the cave’s alcove.”

“Yep.”

When Fenris tilted his head, Anders caught a glimmer above his brows. 

“There’s something on your forehead.”

Fenris brushed his free hand across his his brow.

“Still there.”

“Where?”

Anders leaned forward, and touched the center of his forehead. 

“Three round dots, barely visible. Are they scars?"

“Ah. They’re remnants of lyrium markings which have been removed.”

“Why were they removed?”

“You’re aware elves have better night vision than humans?”

“Right. Some have eye-shine, in the dark.” 

“Correct. While the lyrium was present in my forehead, I was nearly blinded by the glare when I activated the markings. Danarius removed all but a trace amount.”

“Why not remove it all?”

“If too large an area of my body is without lyrium, I won’t phase completely. Enough was left to allow for it.” 

Anders nodded, thinking it explained the markings on his genitals. “How far up do your neck markings go?”

Fenris turned his back to him. “Look, if you like.”

Anders was pleased he was comfortable enough to allow his inspection. He ran his fingers into the wet hair, parting the strands. The lines tapered and ended about ear-level. 

He pulled his hands away, feeling he’d just shared an intimate moment with the elf. Fenris didn’t. He was already onto another interest, pointing at a rock platform. 

“Take me to that rock, there... see it?”

They spent the better part of the afternoon exploring the cove, Anders towing the elf from rock to rock. He was pleased to see Fenris’ enthusiasm for his new, albeit awkward, skills. In weeks to come, he became more proficient in moving through the water. He stopped grasping Anders’ wrist in the shallows. He began entering the water alone, staying well back from the drop-off. 

He continued to progress with his magic, as well. With Anders’ guidance, he was able to hold his magic in for longer periods. When he became distracted, though, it leaked back out.

“How do I make it stay?” he asked.

“It’s just time and practice. It’s like toilet-training a child. At first, they wet themselves, then they learn to hold it for a while, and eventually, they don’t even have to think about it.”

“You are telling me I have magical incontinence?”

Anders laughed. It occurred to him he laughed a lot lately; usually the result of Fenris’ dry humor. 

“You know... you’re not at all what I’d expected.”

Fenris’ eyes widened, and he hesitated before replying.

“You... are not what I expected, either.”

“Interested in a game of Diamondback?”

“Varric suggested I play with one card turned backward.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not _that_ bad a player.”

Fenris shrugged. “You’re pretty bad.”

“Just get the deck.”

\--------------------------

Anders sat at the table Fenris built, towel about his hips, writing in his journal. He glanced frequently at the elf swimming near shore. Although Fenris was comfortable in the shallows without him present, Anders still kept an eye out when he was swimming. Which was a lot. If they weren’t working with his magic, one or both was in the water. 

Fenris was deeply tanned from his time in the sun, his lyrium markings brilliant in contrast. The darkness which had consumed his mind hadn’t resurfaced. He bathed regularly, with lye soap so strong it stung Anders’ nose. But, his hair was shining and clean, and his clothes tended; not that they wore clothes, most of the time. Anders was less happy with his own hygiene. His beard was itchy and hot. Fenris joke about burning it off was gaining merit. As a ginger-blonde unused to the sun, Anders didn’t so much tan as sprout enough freckles to nearly change his skin color. 

He turned back to his journal, his crimped handwriting covering the pages. He kept careful note of Fenris’ magical progress and manifestations. He also journaled day-to-day activities. He knew this time in the cove would be a source of fond memories, when the dank shadows of Darktown became oppressive. He described everything; the weather, the sand, the water, the sky. Having sunshine and fresh air written in the pages would help warm the chill of the Undercity.

He jumped when water sprayed over him. Fenris stood beside the table, dripping wet, shaking his head. 

“You have a towel, you selkie!” He held up his journal and waved it to dry the pages.

Fenris slicked his hair back. “What did you just call me?”

“A selkie. It’s a mythical sea creature.” He stretched toward the elf’s cot, snagged the towel and tossed it at him.

“It’s still wet,” Fenris complained, dropping it to the ground. “Where’s yours?”

“Covering my ass. And, quit using mine. I found it in a soaked heap, this morning. Disgusting.” 

With a scowl, Fenris retrieved his from the sand, shaking it violently. Anders bellowed, covering his face as sand flew everywhere.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“It’s covered in sand.” Fenris gingerly dried himself with a relatively clean corner of the towel. 

“Then hang it up, so it’s dry next time you want it. Andraste’s tits, you make a mess.” Anders shook sand out of his journal, and blew it off the tabletop. He’d come to realize Fenris had little housekeeping or cooking skills. Clothes, towels, dishes... all just ended up wherever the elf last used them. 

With exaggerated care, Fenris hung his towel over the line Anders had strung. He flopped onto his cot, kicking sand on the table in the process. 

_“Gahh!_ Just stay put, for Maker’s sake. How can anyone be such a slob?”

Fenris shrugged. “I was a bodyguard, not a house slave.”

“So, you never had to pick up after yourself?”

“It was not quite so simple as that.”

“What’s complicated about it?”

“Do you truly wish to hear of these things?”

“Um... kind of. Is it something I’ll regret?”

“Other than time wasted hearing it, no.”

“Then, I want to know.”

Fenris sighed. “Danarius’ houses overflow with slaves. If he blew his nose, one was at his elbow to take the handkerchief. When he finished a meal, another removed his dishes. He did not hang wet towels, because bath slaves washed and dried him.”

“I doubt with lye soap.”

Fenris snorted. “Nobles prefer everything scented; soaps, shampoos, perfumes, incense. A matister’s estate is a battleground of scents.”

“So, you choose the opposite, now you’re free.”

“I reeked of Orlesian oils for ten years. Lye is a refreshing change.” 

“You were a bodyguard. Why did you need to be scented?”

“I was close to Danarius most of the day. I could not be offensive. My toilette was nearly as painstaking as his.”

“Maker’s breath.” He was glad his own soap was unscented. He knew how evocative smells could be.

Fenris continued. “My original point was: no, I did not normally spend my time on household chores.”

“Not normally?”

“Hadriana occasionally set me scrubbing floors or chamber pots. It amused her. This topic grows tiresome.”

“Oh. Alright, then.” He knew pushing the subject would serve no purpose. When Fenris was done with something, he was done.

“Tell me of the selkie.”

Anders grinned to himself. “A selkie is a mythical creature that lives as a seal in the ocean. It can shed its skin, and live as a person on land. The stories are usually sad, though.”

“There are seals in the Nocen Sea. They are much better swimmers than I.”

Anders chuckled. “No doubt. But, you’ve practically lived in the water since learning to swim.” 

“I am coming to understand why you enjoy it.”

“It won’t be long and you’ll be diving from the rock.”

“No. I will not.”

“I'll bet a sovereign you will.”

“You don’t have a sovereign.”

“I don’t need one, because I’ll win.”

“Fool.”

“I’ve been a fool for worse things.”

“Such as?”

“Love, dear Fenris. I’ve been a fool for love.”

“From what I’ve observed, everyone is a fool for love.”

“Even you?”

Fenris seemed truly stymied by the question. 

“I... it is... complicated.”

Anders sighed. “It always is.”

“Who were you a fool for?”

“Karl Thekla.”

“What happened?”

“It’s... complicated.”

“I’ve heard it often is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tumblr discussion of just how encompassing the lyrium marking are, led to a theory from @hyatt-death; they need to cover enough of Fenris body to allow all of him to phase. Which made me think about his mostly-unmarked head. Which led me to Fernis' original artist conception, in which he had three dots of lyrium on his forehead. Which led me to... well, you just read it. ;-)
> 
> So... not _all_ mages should be free. Big step for our elf.


	11. Midway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris both realize the other isn't so bad, after all.
> 
> The cove hosts visitors.

Fenris ran across the beach and into the water. When deep enough, he struck out for the distant figure. He was slow, but he was steady. The route he took was crooked, following a line of closely spaced rock formations. He preferred a safe spot nearby, when in deep water. 

Reaching Anders’ rock, he accepted the offered hand, and pulled himself to stand beside the mage. He was out of breath from his extended swim.

“Don’t tire yourself like that,” Anders said. “You’re not a strong swimmer.” Fenris ignored the comment, too excited to care.

“What do you see?” He asked, holding out his arms. 

“A naked elf.”

“What’s missing?”

“All your parts seem accounted for.”

“No! Look!”

Anders’ face suddenly lit. “You brought it in? By yourself? And, it’s holding, even after your swim?”

Fenris nodded, pride welling inside. 

“You did it? _You did it!”_ Anders pulled him into an ecstatic embrace. There was a brief sensation of arms about his ribs and scruffy beard against his ear, then Anders let loose of him, still exhorting his success.

“Maker’s bountiful balls! Fenris, this is wonderful. Alright, now you’ve pulled it in, don't think about it. Just see what happens naturally, alright?”

Fenris nodded, taking a deep breath and letting out again. He was relieved by his success. They’d been here for three months. Maybe he would finally get control of his magic. He watched Anders lower a woven basket to the bottom of the cove.

“Any luck with crab, yet?”

“Not so far. They’re crafty. They escape every trap I try.”

“Now you know how the templars felt when you escaped.”

Anders snorted. “I felt it alright; with every boot against my skull.” He sat on the rock, legs dangling into the water. Fenris joined him.

“I get the impression you may have tested their patience.”

“You have the backward. They tested my patience.”

“Do all mages escape as often as you?”

“No. Most don’t try, at all.”

Fenris contorted, trying to reach an itch in the middle of his back.

“Do I have another bite?” They weren’t sure what was biting them, but they were feasted upon with regularity.

Anders ran a hand down his back. Fenris squirmed when his fingers found the itchy spot. 

“There. Scratch.”

“It’ll get irritated. Want me to heal it?”

“Scratching feels better. But, go ahead.” A small burst of magic healed the bite and stopped the itch. He rolled his shoulders and back in appreciation.

“Fenris... do your markings hurt?”

Anders wouldn’t know, but it was a very loaded question. Did they hurt? How could he explain it? 

“Not in the way you are probably thinking.”

“What way do you mean?”

“It is... like a memory of pain. When they are touched, the memory comes alive. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Does it bother you when I touch them, or heal you?”

“Not anymore. I’ve grown accustomed to you, and your magic.”

“But, it did, before? Why didn’t you say something?”

He shrugged. “It was not of import.”

“Fenris, it’s important to _me.”_

“Always the healer, seeking to relieve pain.”

“I can’t help it.”

“It’s your finest quality.”

He smirked when Anders flushed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you actually remember getting them?”

“No. I have a memory of agony, like no other. But, not of the ritual itself.”

“How long were you with Danarius, after that?”

“Ten years.”

Anders was silent a moment. “Why did you stay with him so long, before you ran away?”

“I had no other life. I had no other purpose. Danarius was all I knew.” 

“Was he... kind to you?”

“So he said. I know differently, now.” He began to squirm inside. “I’d rather not discuss this.”

“You know, if you ever have questions, I’m pretty much an open book.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Fenris was discovering Anders was decent company, an idea Varric and Hawke had both espoused, which he’d originally disregarded. He was an abomination, and that was all he’d needed to know. As it turned out, he was also intelligent, thoughtful, and occasionally witty. But, it was Anders’ generosity which truly defined him. And, not only in healing. As Fenris became aware of small acts of kindness Anders performed, he wondered just how many of his everyday good deeds went unnoticed. 

As an example; Fenris was aware he was reaching out to the mage in his sleep. Initially, he’d been dismayed. Then, he’d noticed his bad dreams had dwindled, and that alone was worth any embarrassment. Yet, Anders made no mention of it, at all. He didn't tease, nor judge, nor question. He’d simply moved their cots together, to foster the contact Fenris sought. 

He’d also noticed Fenris’ food preferences. And, without a word, had limited his own meat consumption to the smoked fish Fenris detested; leaving his share of salt pork for the elf. Similarly, dried apples no longer appeared on Anders’ plate, while Fenris’ share had doubled. 

Not all had been smooth sailing since Fenris’ illness. The peace they’d found remained, but there were certainly times of irritation. Old habits were hard to break; and each had moments when they snapped, or took offense. The difference was in the way they dealt with it. Now, both listened... to not only what was said, but to what wasn’t. For instance, Anders let topics drop when Fenris grew uneasy; and the elf learned he didn’t need to bark, to make it happen. As a result, he was willing to open himself more, trusting his boundaries would be respected.

They had little to do, so talk filled much of their time; covering a broad range of topics. They discussed their companions, Kirkwall’s politics, places they’d visited, history, the Chant. They compared farming in Tevinter to that in the South. They talked of dwarven culture, and darkspawn. There was even an engrossing three-day discourse on the Qun. However, unless it directly related to his training, they did not discuss Circles or mage rights. Neither expressly forbid the topic, but through unspoken agreement, it was avoided. 

Although Fenris knew how well Anders could talk, he hadn’t realized how well he could listen. During their increasing conversations, Anders paid attention, and asked thoughtful questions. When Fenris disagreed with him, Anders didn’t go on the defensive. He listened to the elf’s reasoning. He didn’t always agree, but at least he understood.

As the days grew closer to the time Hawke would return, they cast their eyes west throughout the day, waiting for sails to appear. Not just for the chance to see their friends again, but they were running low on certain supplies. They’d already agreed to stay another three months, to better train Fenris before returning.

Anders stalked up the beach from the water, scowling, the latest crab basket empty in his hand. He threw it into the fire ring with dramatic flair.

“I bloody give up. I’m never going to catch crabs.”

“Try the Blooming Rose,” Fenris suggested from his cot. 

“Ew. As it happens, I’ve never caught _those_ crabs, either.” He pulled his towel off the line and dried himself. “Have you had to pull it in, today?”

“No. It hasn’t shown since I took off the collar this morning.”

“That’s fantastic! It’s that ironclad self-control of yours.”

Fenris was pleased, as well. It was late afternoon, and his magic had been contained since sunrise. “Should I wear the collar, tonight?”

“That’s up to you, as always. It’ll be interesting to see how it does in your sleep. How are your dreams?”

He shrugged. “No changes.” 

“No visits from demons, or other spirits?”

“How would I know they were demons, and not just normal dreams?”

“They’d be more interactive. And, they’d make offers. Like, to help you control your magic, or take vengeance on Danarius.”

“No. Nothing like that. Just... memories.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Just then, something in the distance caught Fenris’ eye. “Hawke!” 

Sure enough, white sails stood out against the brilliant blue sky. Their friends had arrived.

“I hope they brought more sugar,” Anders said wistfully.

“Or, wine. Why in the Void didn’t they pack wine?” 

Pulling on their pants, they jogged along the shore to meet them. It was the same group who’d brought them; Varric, Isabela, and Hawke. It was a joyous reunion, for everyone. 

“Look at you two,” Isabela said. “Tan and fit, smelling of the sea. I could just eat you both alive.” 

“You both look like you’ve gone native,” Varric observed. “Look at Blondie, with a beard to rival any dwarf!”

“You can have mine. I forgot my razor.”

Isabela tickled Anders’ facial growth. “I like it. You look fierce.”

Hawke interrupted. “Before we bother unloading the supplies, are you coming back, or are you staying another three months?”

Fenris shared a look with Anders. Both nodded. 

“We’re staying.”

It was strange, hearing so many voices at once. With the help of one of the sailors they’d hired, the supplies were carried back to the cave amid loud chatter and laughter.

“Broody, where do you two want all this?”

“The cave, please. I’ll sort it out.”

“I’ll help,” Anders said. “You all go ahead and set up your gear.”

Once the group had deposited their loads in the cave, and left, Fenris sighed.

“Are they as loud to you, as to me?”

Anders nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see them, but I’ve gotten used to our peaceful little world.”

“Precisely.” He reached into the crate he’d opened and held up a sack. 

“Sugar!” Anders exclaimed. 

Fenris sighed happily when one of the casks turned out to hold wine.

“So, Fenris... before you berate Hawke for not leaving wine the first time around... I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure how you were going to do, here. And... you did go down a pretty dark road, for a while.”

Fenris grunted. He supposed he understood. “Is that why you took my blade?”

“Yeah. Shit, I never gave it back, did I? When melancholy really took hold. It’s buried with your knife, elbow deep in the sand, to the right of the cave entrance.”

Fenris looked at him soberly, long enough Anders finally asked, “Are you angry?”

“No. I am... a bit humbled. And, grateful.”

“Maker’s breath... you were going to use it, weren’t you?”

“On myself, not against you. The day I attacked you... was a difficult time.” He shook his head, not knowing how to describe it. He was unexpectedly pulled into an embrace.

He was startled, at first. Fenris had been held in many ways, for many reasons, but never like this. There was no ulterior motive, no expectation, no pain. It was gentle, and warm, and if he’d thought holding Anders’ hand was comforting, this.... 

He tentatively returned the embrace.

“Fenris... I had no idea. If I’d known how deep your darkness had become, I’d have _done something._ I wouldn’t have just left you to suffer alone.”

“I have always suffered alone.”

“Sweet Maker. I’m so sorry.”

“It was not your doing.”

Anders pulled away, face filled with sadness. “I should have seen it. I just thought you were exhausted... and, angry.”

“Don’t blame yourself. You were suffering, as well. And, there’s nothing you could have done, regardless. I would not have accepted help. It means a great deal, to hear you say this... more than you know.”

With a deep breath, Anders nodded.

Fenris gripped his shoulders. “Let’s leave this grim talk behind. This is a good day.”

Anders nodded again. “You’re right. Let’s find out what everyone’s been up to.”

The group had their tents scattered about when they emerged from the cave. The sailor who’d accompanied them was setting up Isabela’s tent further down the beach. The pirate, herself, had stripped down to her underclothes, and was swimming in the cove. 

“Want to join her?” Anders asked him.

“Not naked, I don’t.”

Anders laughed, and stripped off his pants, leaving on his smalls. He ran to the waterline, and chased after her.

Fenris joined Varric on a driftwood log. The dwarf had taken off his duster, and was emptying sand out of his boots.

“Now I see why Blondie’s barefoot. Things going ok, with you two?”

“Fine.”

“Not at each other’s throats?”

“We’ve had moments.”

Varric laughed. “I’ll bet. How’s the magic going?”

“Very well.”

“You look better. It kind of threw you for a loop, for a while. Threw us all for a loop.”

“Indeed.”

Fenris watched as Anders led Isabela to his diving rock, and climbed up the side.

“What are they doing up there?” Varric asked.

“I know what Anders does. I’m curious what she will do.”

Anders executed what Fenris thought of as his Freedom Dive. When he popped back up from the water, Isabela whooped. Then, it was her turn. Her dive included several summersaults before she entered the water. 

“Damn, look at that girl go,” Varric said. “You do that, too?”

“No. Anders has only recently taught me to swim.” 

“No kidding? You really must be getting along.”

It was a vast understatement. But, Fenris knew he couldn’t adequately describe their growing accord. 

The sailor raced past them, stark naked, and splashed into the water. The dwarf broke into laughter.

“Manly’s trying to impress Rivaini.” 

_“Manly?”_

“I shit you not. That’s his name.”

“Do you wish to join them?”

“Dwarves don’t swim, Broody. We sink.”

Fenris looked around, finally. “Where is Hawke?”

“In her tent, singing the Chant.”

Indeed, when he listened carefully, he could just make out the soft sound of Hawke’s voice. “Why?”

Varric shrugged. “She’s gotten pretty devout, lately. We went on another mission with that princely priest.”

“Sebastian?”

“That’s the one. He and Hawke were friendly, after that. They spend a lot of time together.”

“Is he no longer a Brother?”

“I don’t know, and I haven’t asked. He bores the socks off me. But, Hawke likes him. She goes to the Chantry a lot. Prays. Talks with Choirboy. Not my cup of tea, but she seems happy.”

Eventually, Hawke emerged from her tent. She smiled at the two men.

“Not going in?” she asked.

“Nope, we’re just watching the show,” Varric said. “Feel free to frolic, Hawke.”

With a grin, she shucked her armor and most of her clothes. In an under-tunic and smallclothes, she ran to the water and joined the laughing, splashing group already there.

“Damn. I’m not into humans, but Hawke’s got what it takes to make a grown man cry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Guess you’re not into humans, either.”

Ah. Varric referred to physical attraction. Isabela and Hawke were both undeniably beautiful, but he felt no attraction to them. Beauty truly was only skin deep. Fenris had been bedded by humans, elves, and dwarves; both men and women; those considered beautiful and not. Essentially, they’d all been the same. 

By the time he and Varric had dinner started, the swimmers came to shore. There was lively conversation and ale, and foods the two men sorely missed. Strips of fresh beef, skewered and roasted over the flames; fresh fruit, and fresh bread. Dessert was dough wrapped around sticks and baked over coals; then drizzled with honey. 

Thinking of all the fish consumed on his behalf, Fenris slipped a portion of his steak onto Anders’ plate when he wasn’t looking. When he looked down to find an extra pastry on his plate, he knew who'd put it there.

By the time the stars winked on, they’d eaten their fill, and sat around the campfire, ignoring the ruckus from Isabela and Manly’s tent.

“He’s surpassed all my expectations,” Anders told Hawke. “I’ve never seen anyone with such focus and determination.”

“Fenris, I’m so relieved!” Hawke said. “You can both come home, soon.”

“When Anders thinks I’m ready. I’m not going back to Kirkwall until my magic is fully under control.”

“Honestly, I half-expected to find one of you had killed the other,” Varric said.

Fenris met Anders’ gaze, and shared a smirk. One of them _had_ attacked the other; and one of them _had_ died. Yet, the ultimate outcome had been distinctly positive. 

Their visitors filled them in on recent missions, local gossip, and the latest tally of Wicked Grace winnings. The biggest issue at hand was the Qunari, still squatting on the waterfront. 

“Viscount Dumar has had me run interference a couple times. I’m no expert in Qunari customs, but even I can see this is coming to an ugly head,” Hawke said.

“Be wary in your meetings with them,” Fenris advised. “They are not to be underestimated.”

“They say something was stolen from them, and they can’t go home without it. It would help to know what it was.”

“If they haven’t offered that information by now, it’s unlikely they will,” Fenris said. 

“How are things at the Circle?” Anders asked.

“Seems about the same,” Hawke said. “I haven’t been to the Gallows, lately.”

Fenris was sure Hawke was dissembling. He was confused, but decided to approach her about it, alone. 

When their guests turned-in for the night, Anders and Fenris talked quietly in their beds.

“I know she goes to the herbalist in the Gallows courtyard,” Anders said. 

“I thought the same. Perhaps she’s been distracted by the Qunari.”

“Or, Sebastian.”

“You heard that, too?”

“Isabela.”

“Hawke has as much right to happiness as anyone. Perhaps more; she’s lost everyone in her family.”

“I don’t begrudge her that. I’d just hoped she might have kept an eye on the situation.”

“I understand. I’d like to know, as well.”

“How’s your magic feel?”

“You tell me,” he said, sliding his blankets off of his chest.

Anders put a hand on his chest. “It’s calm. Can you feel it when it’s not overflowing?”

“Not really. Should I be able to?”

“You might. Sometimes it’s easier to sense another’s. Here,” he pulled his blanket away from his own chest. “Try to feel mine.” 

Fenris laid his hand on Anders’ chest, the sprinkle of fine hair tickling his palm. He focused, and tried to make sense of what he felt. 

“There’s... a faint vibration?”

“That’s it. Anything else?”

“It feels... like a purr. Your magic is more kitten-like, than mine.”

He felt Anders’ chuckle under his palm. He pulled his hand away. Anders’ magic was soothing, both when used to heal, and when calm within him.

“Now you can hold in your magic, and control the arcane bolts, we’ll try an arcane shield, just to see how you do. Then, we’ll work on your ice, before moving on to force magic.”

Fenris wasn’t pleased to hear the amount of spellcasting he’d be doing.

A hand rested on his arm. “I know you don’t like casting spells.”

“If I hadn’t learned to, I wouldn’t have been able to attack you, delusional or not.”

“Ah... we’re back to that. I’ve never met someone so determined to beat himself into submission.”

He huffed. “You should not dismiss the inherent dangers of magic, so easily.”

“Magic wasn’t the aggressor, that day. It was simply the tool at hand.”

He sighed. He wondered if Anders really understood, sometimes. 

They were quiet awhile, looking at the stars. Anders eventually spoke.

“Why didn’t you come in the water, today?”

“I told you. I have no desire to be naked in a crowd of clothed.”

“Manly wasn’t wearing anything.”

“Manly was wearing a very awkward erection.”

Anders clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his snicker. “Oh, Maker, you noticed, too?”

“It would have been _hard_ to miss.”

Anders pulled his pillow over his face, laughing into it. He pulled it away after a moment, breathless. Fenris continued.

“Not that I question a sailer saluting his captain.”

The pillow went over Anders’ mouth again, snorts escaping its confines.

“Quiet, mage. You’ll _arouse_ the others.”

Anders giggled madly into the pillow. 

Fenris sighed. “It’s as though you’ve never seen a mast with full sail, before.”

The pillow smacked his chest. Anders gasped, wiping his eyes. “Stop! You’re killing me!” 

He desisted, and allowed Anders to calm himself. 

“Beyond my lack of smallclothes, I didn’t go in the water because you were all very excitable--”

Anders snorted, hand over his mouth, again.

 _“I meant..._ you roughhouse more than I am comfortable with, given my swimming skills.”

“I’ll stay beside you. You have no smalls, at all?”

“No. Why do you think Isabela hasn’t guessed their color?”

Anders laughed, again. “How many pairs of leggings do you have?”

“Several.”

“Give me your knife. I’ll cut these ones short.” He suddenly exclaimed aloud. _“Gah!_ Fenris! Your hand left honey all over my chest!”

“The pastries were sticky.”

“Maker’s breath... it’s stuck in my chest hair....”

Fenris pulled his knife from under his blankets, and handed it to Anders. 

“What else have you got hidden under there?” he asked, as Fenris stood before him.

“Some rope, some shells, a few rocks....”

“That can’t be comfortable to sleep on.” Anders pinched the fabric covering his thigh, and pierced it with the blade.

“I like things close at hand.” 

In a few moments, his leggings had been shortened to his upper thigh. 

“How’s that?” Anders asked.

“Strange.” But, he liked the modesty they provided. It was one thing to run around naked in front of an equally nude Anders. It was another to parade in front of a group. He’d been in that position, often enough. Being stared at, being touched, hearing unedited comments.

“Let’s try them out. I need to wash this honey off before it gets all over my blankets. And, wash your sticky hands before they get all over everything.”

Together, they made for the cove, and waded in. The water was warm in the cool air, the moonlight guiding their way. 

“Here’s the first platform,” Fenris quietly called. 

“Good. I want to scrub the honey off. Should have done it with sand.” He scratched at his chest, splashing himself with the warm water.

“You’re missing some, here....”

“Yeah, use that elfy vision of yours-- _ow!_ Maker’s ass, don’t pull it out. Hold it... Fenris, you’ve still got honey all over your hands.”

He smirked as Anders took his hands and scrubbed them between his. “You’re obsessed with cleanliness.”

“You ever meet a healer who’s not, go home and lick your wound, instead. Did I get it all?”

Fenris examined his hands. “Yes. And, some skin.”

“Payback for my chest hair. How do the short pants feel?”

“Comfortable.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Keeping elven booty safe from pirates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about those terrible puns. Nahhhhh... I'm not. ;-)
> 
> Biscuits on a stick. Yum!: http://camping.about.com/od/recipes/r/ucrec091.htm


	12. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their friends' visit proves illuminating.
> 
> Fenris hears what Anders is saying.

The group was staying for another day and night, to enjoy the beach and one another’s company. The next morning, Fenris spoke alone with Hawke. She talked of Sebastian, and how kind he was, how devout. She truly seemed happy with their budding friendship. 

“What do you think he should do?” Fenris asked.

“I don’t know,” Hawke said. “He’s asked my opinion, but it’s his decision to make. I’ll be sad if he returns to Starkhaven, but I’d support his choice.”

“I didn’t get to know him, before. He seemed a good man.”

“Are you and Anders getting on alright?” she asked.

“We are. We’re... yes. We are getting on.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“No, I am sure. I hadn’t expected we would do so well. He is... not what I had thought.”

"You're not uncomfortable with anything you're doing?"

"There are things I'd rather not do. Yet, I understand they're important to my training."

She nodded distractedly.

“Hawke, do you truly not know how things are in the Circle?”

“Oh, I know. And, they’re getting worse. I didn’t want to say, in front of Anders. I don’t want Justice dragging him away, when you need him most.”

“I see.” He understood. Yet, he felt the decision should be Anders'. 

As the group headed into the water the next day, Anders was true to his word. He stayed close, only leaving Fenris' side when the elf sat beside Varric in the shallows to watch a wrestling match. Manly took Isabela on his shoulders, and Anders took Hawke. In chest-deep water, the teams struggled to topple one another. There was much splashing, teasing, and laughter. 

Varric, also stripped down to smallclothes, refused to take Fenris’ bet on Anders and Hawke.

“If Manly wasn’t wearing smalls, today, sure. No way Blondie would crowd him like that with a bare blade poking at him.”

Fenris chuckled. Varric turned to him in surprise. “This trip’s been good for you in more ways than magic. Thought I heard you two carrying on, last night.”

“Anders carried on. I simply made observations.”

“Laughter flowing in any direction between the two of you, is noteworthy. Good to hear. Good to see. I told you you two had things in common.”

“I don’t know that we do, outside magic. Our backgrounds and political views couldn’t be more different.”

“People don’t have to be intellectual mirror-images to get along. It’s what’s deep in the core of them, that counts.”

“Unfortunately, that’s often the hardest to see.”

“I don’t have all the answers. It’s good to see Hawke laughing, again, isn’t it?”

Fenris agreed. Balanced on Anders’ shoulders, soaking wet, and giggling like a child, she looked as though she hadn’t a care in the world. 

“The years since the Blight have not been easy for her,” he said. “It’s good she can find joy.”

By the time some decision was made regarding wins and losses, it was time for lunch, and a communal nap. Fenris and Anders, more accustomed to the heat and swimming, took to the cove, again; leaving their cots in the shady breeze for Varric and Hawke.

Sitting on their farthest perch, Anders laughed. “You’re kidding! He thought I’d be squeamish about dangly bits in a wrestling match?”

“I believe he felt the state of said dangly bits would be the deal-breaker.”

Anders rocked his head, weighing the facts. “Well, he may have a point. Wait... that came out wrong.”

As the afternoon sun burned down, everyone returned to the water. Hawke opted to join Varric in the shallows, having had her fill of roughhousing. Sitting in waist deep water, they carried on an animated conversation, their laughter carrying on the warm breeze. 

The rest of the group migrated further out. Again, Anders stayed near Fenris. Manly was engaging in behaviors toward Anders, that Fenris couldn’t decipher. He pushed into his conversations, made challenges, pulled him into mock battles, tugged at his hair and smallclothes... Fenris was baffled. Perhaps he’d overheard some of their private jokes, and was retaliating? Anders took it in stride, shrugging it off.

“Show me again.” Fenris said. 

He was treading water, watching Anders demonstrate an underwater somersault. It was a simple maneuver on land, yet in the water, he continually failed to complete the roll.

Anders backed away to make room. “Try to put your head between your knees, once you’re facing down. Watch....”

And, over he went, in a perfect roll.

Fenris tried, but again, his body wouldn’t cooperate.

“My ass won’t follow my head.”

Anders laughed, and began to reply, but suddenly... disappeared. It was as though he’d been sucked under the surface.

Fenris ducked his head under water, and peered into the depths. Below, he saw Anders in a tussle with Manly. Steeling himself, he swam down. Even with the water slowing his movements, his blows landed true. Manly released Anders, who shot for the surface, Fenris in his wake. 

Surfacing, he pulled a sputtering Anders to the nearest rock platform, and hoisted him up. 

“I’m ok, just took in a little water,” he said between coughs.

Fenris wasn’t convinced. He climbed beside him, watching anxiously as Anders caught his breath. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Why isn’t he up, yet? Did you knock him out? Maybe we should....”

Just then, Manly surfaced, supported by a laughing Isabela. 

“You nearly drowned me!” Manly choked out, coughing.

Fenris lunged for him, held back by Anders.

“I’d be happy to finish!” Fenris struggled against the restraining arm, but Anders held fast. 

“He was just playing, Fenris,” Isabela soothed him. “He’s a lover, not a fighter.”

Anders’ voice was in his ear. “Let it go. I’m fine.”

“Come on, lover,” Isabela murmured. “Let’s find a little rock of our own.” As they disappeared among the boulders and pillars in the cove, Fenris relaxed. 

“Buffoon,” he grumbled.

Anders chuckled. His hand came up to press against Fenris’ chest. “Feel that... even pissed-off, your magic’s under control.”

Now it was over, Fenris felt foolish, and unnerved by his swim into the depths. 

“I overreacted. You weren’t in danger.”

“Hey... you drowned out here. I’d say you reaction was perfectly reasonable.”

Fenris grunted. “Perhaps. He’s been antagonizing you all day.”

“He’s flirting, Fenris. Badly, but that’s all it is.”

“Flirting? Are you sure? How can you tell?”

Anders laughed. “Because everyone flirts like that... _when they’re twelve._ But, you wouldn’t remember, would you?”

“I wouldn’t want to.”

Anders laughed again. “Do I need to sit on you until he leaves?”

“I will control myself.”

“Mind if we stay here, a while? I could do with some peace and quiet.”

“As could I.”

They sat together, comfortable in their silence. 

As the sun lowered, everyone made for shore, and dry clothes. When Fenris went to the cave to find the cask of wine, he heard voices in the alcove.

“Why are you sleeping on the beach, instead of in here?” Hawke asked.

“Need you ask?” Anders replied. “It’s much nicer on the beach.”

“The view’s certainly better. You two seem to be getting along.”

“We’ve found some common ground.”

“Is that all?”

“I’m not following you.”

“Your cots are very close. You’re nearly inseparable. You’re sharing food off your plates. So... I can’t help but wonder.”

Anders’ voice lost some of it’s lightness. “Wonder what, exactly?”

“Fenris has a painful history, Anders. He’s been badly treated by mages. It just seems strange that in three months, you’ve gone from at each others’ throats, to giggling in the dark and feeding each other dessert.”

“Hawke, are you implying I’ve seduced him?”

“Well, I know you’ve got a colorful history, and stuck out here, alone....”

“OK, you’ve got me. The jig is up. The truth is, we’re _not_ working on his magic. We're fucking like stoats. Anytime, anywhere. It’s fabulous.”

Fenris’ jaw dropped. 

_“Anders, honestly!”_ She sighed. “Alright, I’m sorry. But, when I left you, neither of you could say two words without arguing. Can you blame my surprise?”

“Surprise, no. Thinking I’d pulled him under my thrall? Is that really what you think of me?”

“You’re right. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Look. Our friendship is as surprising to me as anyone else. But, when you spend _three months_ alone with someone, you get to know them pretty damn well. And, there were some... circumstances... that sort of pushed us in this direction. There’s nothing illicit about it.”

“I really am sorry, Anders.”

“Let’s just forget it.”

“Alright.”

“And, Hawke?”

“Yes?”

“Neither of us _giggle.”_

Fenris backed quietly from the cave. He wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but he’d bristled at Hawke’s implications. This, after learning Hawke was withholding information from Anders about the Circle. He was bothered by it all.

No, not _all_ of it. Anders said they shared friendship. And, he wasn’t at all bothered by that. He was surprised to hear him say it, but pleasantly so. He noticed Anders didn’t tell of his drowning, just as Fenris hadn’t told Varric. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt... private. It was their experience; no one else could really appreciate it.

The group turned-in late, following a rousing game of Wicked Grace. Isabela took Anders aside and spoke to him privately. Whatever was said, it left Isabela looking disappointed. Anders walked away shaking his head.

In the darkest hours, he was awakened by his magic beginning to surge. He focused his thoughts, and with minimal effort, pulled it back. As it settled, he heard a quiet voice.

“Well done.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“I don’t mind. I’m happy to witness.”

“Anders... there’s something you should know.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Hawke told me the situation at the Gallows is getting worse.”

“She said she didn’t know.”

“She worried if you knew, Justice would compel you to return before I was ready.”

“Ah.”

“Do you wish to return with them, tomorrow?”

Anders was quiet for so long, Fenris looked to see if he’d fallen asleep. He was frowning, deep in thought.

“No.”

“Are you certain? I might be able to continue training in Kirkwall, if I stay in my home most of the time.”

“No, Fenris. This is ideal. We’ll be back, soon enough. I’m more concerned Hawke would keep something from me.”

“That’s why I told you. People should decide their lives for themselves.”

“Spoken like a true apostate.”

Fenris felt a twinge of discomfort. 

“Sorry... I know that bothers you.”

“Yes, it does. It’s true. I... have difficulty accepting it.”

“I know. We all do... mages, I mean. Trouble accepting we have magic... trouble accepting we have to live our lives in cages... trouble accepting that if we run, we’ll never truly be free.”

“The Wardens freed you from the Circle. That’s an option for mages, isn’t it?”

“Most aren’t suitable candidates. You could present yourself as a potential recruit, and I have no doubt they’d accept you.”

“Why have you not suggested this, then?”

“Fenris, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Getting recruited’s the easy part. Surviving the Joining is something else, altogether. Suffice it to say, the odds are slim. But, please trust me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked-up to be.” 

Fenris thought a moment. If Anders thought joining the Wardens was a viable option, he’d have suggested it. The fact he hadn’t, told Fenris there was much more to it than he imagined.

“I trust you. I won’t pursue that option.”

“I’m glad, Fenris. You don’t know how glad.”

“I... overheard you speaking with Hawke, today. In the cave.”

“Did you?”

“I’m bothered by what she said. That she would think so of you.”

“She caught me by surprise, too. But, in all honesty, it’s not the worst people have ever thought about me. I’m an abomination, after all.”

“You are making light of it.”

“Yes, it bothered me. I know she cares about you, and wants to be sure you’re treated fairly. But, I'm not-- never mind. The thing is, I care, too. I won't abandon your training, and I certainly won't be playing the lecher.”

Caring was a perplexing concept for Fenris. What he’d been taught about affection and caring was... not right. But, Anders’ kind of caring was different. It was honest, and warm, and without ulterior motive. Like his embrace, Fenris thought. Or, the way he allowed Fenris to hold onto him when unnerved.

“I know you won’t abandon me.”

Anders grinned. “Whatever have I done to garner your faith?”

He shrugged. “What _haven't_ you done?”

Anders rubbed his face. “Damn, Fenris... your honesty....”

Fenris frowned. “Have I said something wrong?”

“Maker, no. Just... unexpected.”

“What did Isabela say to you, after the game?”

“She invited me to join them in their tent.”

“After the stunt he pulled?”

“This was apparently his way of apologizing.”

“Will you? Join them?”

“Are you kidding me?” Anders exclaimed. “No, I won’t be joining them!”

“You’re going to wake the others.”

Anders’ voice lowered. “Well, would _you_ join them?”

“No. But, as you’ve been with Isabela, before....”

 _“What?_ I’ve never slept with Isabela.”

“I understood you met at a brothel... and, did that electricity trick.”

Anders chuckled wryly. “That’s true. But, we never got closer than across the table. I could do that trick on you from here.”

“I... apologize. I... misunderstood.”

“Well, I flirt a lot. Used to, anyway. Justice isn’t very good at it.”

“You still flirt a lot.”

“You obviously don’t know flirting.”

“Obviously not.” He’d never known flirting. He’d known command and performance. 

As they walked the group to the dinghy the next morning, Isabela had some weather advice for them.

“Keep an eye on the sky. Storms hit the coastline this time of year.”

“How bad?” 

“Some can be wicked. Luckily, they’re mostly around sundown, when the temperature changes, so you can prepare. And it’s a short season, only a month or so.”

Fenris and Anders exchanged glances. “Appreciate the warning,” Anders said. 

“That’s what I’m here for! Well, not all I’m here for, but you turned down the rest.”

“Here, Blondie,” Varric interrupted, handing Anders a pouch. “You need it worse than I do. I’ve got spares at home.”

Anders looked inside, then grinned hugely. “Varric, this is Maker-sent!”

“Maker-sent, Varric-sent... people always get it confused.”

Hawke stepped into the dinghy. “We’ll be back for you in three months. Maker watch over you both.”

“Thank you, Hawke,” Fenris said.

As they walked back to the cove, Fenris sighed.

“Wish you were going with them?”

“No. I wish I wasn’t causing everyone such trouble.”

“I... what?”

“You, having to come out here for six months to train me. Hawke, funding most of our expenses. Isabela and Varric, searching for a place to go, and dragging supplies out to us. All because of me.”

“Fenris, they’re our friends. This is what friends do. Sooner or later, they’ll need our help, and we’ll give it. It’s how we survive, in this messed-up world.”

He’d never had friends, before. He didn’t understand the rights and responsibilities involved.

“Perhaps you’re right. I’ve always been alone. It’s not easy for me to rely on others.”

“That probably played into your melancholia. Feeling alone, like that.”

“I wasn’t melancholy.”

“You were in a pretty dark place even before lack of sleep got ahold of you. It’s not an accusation, just an observation.”

Fenris sighed. It had, truly, been a dark place. “There may be something in what you say.”

“Had you ever thought of killing yourself before that?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m serious. To get out of slavery, to escape Danarius... don’t tell me you never thought about it.”

“I did not. To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker.”

“You... believe that?”

“I try to. Some things must be worse than slavery.”

“Some things are worse than death.”

“So I believed, after attacking you on the beach. In all of my years in slavery, I had never been so tempted to end my life.”

Anders looked at him sadly. “You weren’t yourself.”

“I have not been myself since magic first exploded out of my body.”

“Fenris... Magic _is_ yourself. This is what you were meant to be.”

Fenris stopped and looked at him in disbelief. 

_“This?_ I was meant to be _this?_ My life’s been destroyed!”

“For a while. It’ll get better.”

“Even you said my life would never be the same.”

“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, she became a butterfly.”* 

_“What?”_

“It’s a poem I read.” 

“You’re comparing me to a _butterfly?”_

“I’m comparing you to a caterpillar, in its cocoon. But, when spring comes, your cocoon will open, you’ll spread your wings, and fly.”

“You’ve gone around the bend, mage.”

“Will you hate yourself, forever?” 

“I don’t hate myself, now. I hate this magic.”

“That magic _is_ you. It’s how the Maker made you! Danarius stole it, just as he stole your memories.”

Fenris couldn’t reply. There was undeniable truth in what he said.

“Your attitude would make a templar proud. In the Circle, they tell you day and night that magic is a sin, a mark on your soul of the Maker’s hatred. Yet, the Chant tells us differently.”

“And, what does the Chant say, exactly?”

_“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._   
_Foul and corrupt are they_   
_Who have taken His gift_   
_and turned it against His children._

“And, then it goes on to say,

_“All men are the work of our Maker’s hands_   
_from the lowest slaves_   
_to the highest kings._   
_Those who bring harm_   
_without provocation to the least of His children_   
_are hated and accursed by the Maker._

“Do you hear? His gift! Magic is a gift from the Maker, Fenris! Not a curse, not a mark of His hatred! The Chant doesn’t decry the use of magic, only turning it against others.

“And, all men are the Maker’s children. That would include mages. And, those who would bring harm without provocation would apply to the Circles, as well! 

“But, the Circle twists the Chant, and uses it to beat us down. You heard Knight Captain Cullen. He said, mages cannot be treated like people. We aren’t even people to them!”

Fenris listened in rapt attention. He’d heard this rhetoric, before... but he’d never really listened. Anders had held his tongue regarding the mage plight, for most of their stay. Now, he was loosed, words stumbling over each other to escape his mouth.

“They say we’re a risk, we’ll fall to demons, or blood magic, and we must be contained. They do far more than contain us. When I was in the Circle, we were under constant scrutiny, whether we were studying, bathing, sleeping, or taking a shit. We weren’t allowed to have families, or lovers, or choose how we spent the day. Our bodies were inspected, private journals read, and any letters sent or received were censored. Fenris... just last night you said people should decide their lives for themselves. Mages aren’t allowed to decide _anything_ about their lives.

“And, if all that isn’t bad enough, many Circles have a pattern of abuse; beatings, rape, torture. And, nothing is done about it! What can the mages do? Nothing! Not a damn thing! There’s nowhere to turn, no one to help. Is it any surprise that for all the talk of demons, the most common death I saw for a mage was suicide?

“I was lucky. Ferelden’s Circle had its problems, but it wasn’t like the Gallows. And, there are Circle mages all across Thedas who are hurt, killed, and made Tranquil every day. They jail us, beat us, rape us, and stand idly by while we kill ourselves! They take anything we find that makes life bearable, any affection, any love that makes us feel worthwhile, and tear it away. Because, Maker forbid we should feel like _people,_ and find a _fucking moment’s joy!”_

“Do you know the worst part, Fenris? No one gives a damn. No one cares. Not the Chantry, not the public, no one! The world has decided we’re evil, and deserve what we get. They’re butchering us like animals, and _no one gives a damn!”_ Anders’ eyes began to glow, his skin to rend with the light within. His voice mixed in the echoing bass of the demon.

“Mage....”

“It’s a Chantry-approved, systematic destruction of lives, and _it must end!_ You’re part of it, now, as marked by the Maker’s hatred in their eyes, as any other mage. I couldn’t save _him._ I couldn’t save myself. But, I will save _you,_ and every other mage I possibly can!”

_“ANDERS!”_

He startled, and the light pouring from him died away. Fenris watched as he staggered, struggling for control. 

“I’m sorry,” Anders rasped, his voice his own, again.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. Perhaps we should have gone back to Kirkwall... your demon grows restless.”

“No... he’s fine. I can’t save everyone. I want to, but I can’t. But, I meant it... I _will_ save you, Fenris.”

“I don’t expect you to save me. Just, teach me.”

He was pulled into a crushing embrace, Anders’ intensity not entirely drained.

“I’m sure as the Void going to try. I’ll teach you everything you’re willing to learn. I’ll help you control your Maker-given power, so you don’t fall into their grasp. I swear it.” 

When Anders didn’t loosen his hold, Fenris returned the embrace. 

“It’s alright, Anders. We’re both alright.”

When he finally let Fenris go, he didn’t speak. He looked at him sadly a moment, then nodded, and continued the walk back to the cove. When they arrived, Anders stripped off his clothes and swam out, alone. Fenris lay on his cot to think. 

Anders’ impassioned oration echoed in his mind. Before, it had been the ramblings of a fanatic. Now, he saw it differently. Anders described what could easily happen to him, as well as what had already happened to thousands of others. Fenris hadn’t listened before, because he had known only one thing; mages must not be free to build another Imperium. 

Fenris had never been taught the Chant. Hearing those verses cast a new light on the crimes committed by the Circles. The Chantry governed the Circle system; at the least, that governance should follow the Chant’s doctrine. Clearly, it did not.

He knew what Anders said was true, based on what little he’d heard in the Gallows courtyard. He’d heard talk of unlawful Tranquility Rites, beatings, and rape. And, that was in just _two_ visits. And, what of the quiet despair of which Anders spoke? A despair so deep mages simply took their own lives. 

The Circle system was fatally flawed. And yet, Fenris still believed mages could not simply be freed. Without Circles, how could mages be monitored for signs of blood magic or corruption? How else could maleficarum be controlled? 

There had to be a way to guarantee the safety of mages, and prevent abuses, while still protecting the populace. Was there no middle ground between the cruelty of Tevinter and the cruelty of the Circle? Was there no compromise to be found? 

_Fasta vass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Anders met Isabela at the Pearl, it's never expressly said they had sex. In fact, the girl with the griffon tattoos warrants more of their conversation than each other. IMO. :-)
> 
> Anders' mention of mage suicide is banter, not my headcanon.
> 
> The butterfly proverb is credited to Chuang Tzu.


	13. Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns there's more to Anders' past than Grey Wardens and spirits.

Anders held the razor and cream in his hands, wondering how badly he’d muck this up, shaving by touch. When Varric loaned him his kit, he hadn’t thought about a mirror. 

“You look flummoxed,” Fenris said. He had just come from a swim, and stood toweling himself as Anders contemplated his situation.

“I can’t take this beard, anymore. But, I know me... I’ll slit my throat if I do this without a mirror.”

“Wait here.”

In a moment, Fenris was back with his great sword. 

“You can see yourself in the blade.”

Indeed, he could... sort of. It was distorted, and required two hands to position, but there he was. Or rather, there was someone from his past.

“Maker’s ass... I look like my father.”

“You’ve never noticed, before?”

“I’ve never seen myself in a beard before.” He studied his distorted reflection in the blade. His mother always said he took after his father. He’d been the man against whom Anders measured all others. Then, magic came, and his father’s expression.... He sighed.

“Are you unhappy to be reminded of him?” Fenris asked tactfully.

“Yes, and no. I loved him. Then, he told me I was the punishment for his sins. I never got over that.”

“You speak of when your magic manifested.”

“Yes. Mutti wanted to hide it, to keep me home. But, when I set the barn on fire, Vati notified the templars.”

“He was obeying the law, Anders. You cannot hold that against him.”

“I know that, now. But, as a child, I only knew my father no longer loved me, and sent me away. Mutti was crying... they had to pull me from her arms.” He swiped a hand across his eyes. He hadn’t told this story since he’d shared it with Karl. 

A hand squeezed his shoulder. The simple contact was remarkably comforting. 

“What are the words you called them?”

“Mutti and Vati? They’re Ander for Mum and Dad. Most of the village emigrated from the Anderfels together.”

“You also have good memories of them. You told me you had a happy childhood.”

“I did. Sometimes, it’s rendered bittersweet by the ending. But, those memories sustained me through many hard times.” 

He looked at the man beside him. Fenris had no good memories of childhood; no memories, at all. It made him grateful for what he’d had, even for such a short time.

“I wish you remembered your family,” he told him.

“I sometimes wish the same. Hadriana said I have a sister. I can find her, if I wish.”

“Do you?”

“I’m uncertain. What could it afford me, to meet her?”

“It could afford you a family. A connection with your past.”

“I suppose. I will think on it. Would you like me to help you shave? I’m well-practiced at at it.”

“You don’t shave.”

“I often acted as Danarius’ valet.”

“It wouldn’t bring back, I don’t know... icky memories?”

Fenris snorted. “No. I’m certain there will be no icky memories.”

Anders grinned. “You have no idea how much I’d like that. If you really don’t mind.”

“I do not mind. Give me the blade and cream.”

He handed himself over to Fenris’ expertise. Not since a young child, had anyone else groomed him. He relaxed into it, enjoying the gentle touch. Fenris lathered the shaving cream into his beard, and with practiced ease, carefully shaved the growth from his face. They were quiet, save for Fenris’ occasional murmur.

“Chin up.” 

Anders gazed up at the blue sky, watching wispy clouds slowly drift. The razor drew confidently along his throat, and under his jaw.

“To the side.”

One cheek... the other. 

“Roll your lips.”

Chin... upper lip.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you cleanly shaven, before.”

“I don’t bother more than once a week. Damn... that was fast.”

“I can trim your hair, if you like.” 

“Maker’s breath, you’re spoiling me. Please... it drives me crazy when it’s past my jaw.”

“Consider it done.” 

Fenris wiped his face clean with a towel, then threaded his fingers into his hair, gently combing out the tangles. A pleasant tingling sensation ran from his scalp, down his neck and shoulders. 

“That feels nice,” he sighed.

“I gather. You’re melting where you sit.”

Fenris skillfully trimmed his hair with the razor, then held up his sword for Anders to see his warped reflection. 

Anders took one look, and laughed. “My face has a patchwork tan, after the beard. I feel much better. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. 

“Now, stay right there. It’s your turn.” He moved to sit behind Fenris.

“My turn? I need neither a shave nor a haircut.”

Anders ran his fingers into the white hair. Indeed, it didn’t look to have grown at all in the last three months. 

“I know elves don’t have facial hair, but why hasn’t your hair grown?”

“It’s the lyrium my scalp, or so Danarius said. My hair was also dark before receiving the markings.”

“Hm. Well, you may not need grooming, but you can still enjoy the sensation.”

He began gently massaging Fenris’ head. His hair was remarkably silky, threading sleekly through his fingers. He saw the elf’s shoulders begin to droop, and his head fell back slightly. Alternating between combing along his scalp with fingernails, and massaging the muscles underneath, he felt him unwind.

“Good?” He asked.

“Mmmmm.”

As his fingers moved down to his neck, Fenris’ head fell forward, and hung limp.

“This doesn’t bother your markings, does it?”

“Nnnn.” Fenris groaned.

Anders chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.”

He was pleased Fenris accepted his touch. He not only tolerated the massage, he was relishing it. By the time Anders was working on his shoulders, the elf had nearly collapsed into his lap. It was strange, and delightful, to see him so unguarded.

Within a week of Hawke's departure, the first of the promised storms hit; sudden and violent. They’d been in the water, when clouds rolled in so quickly neither noticed until the sun went dark. Thunder echoed across the sea, sending them for shore as fast as they could swim. Just as they reached land, a downpour began. A tingle on their skin heralded a bolt from the heavens, and the tree above their cots was split in twain; Fenris’ bed exploding into splinters. 

Sprinting up the beach, they snatched up their belongings, and flew to the cave. Panting in the entry, they watched with fascination as the gentle cove was transformed into a mad beast.

_“Venhedis....”_

“Yeah... what you said.”

They set about examining their belongings. A few of Fenris’ blankets were usable, but most of his bedroll was scorched beyond recovery. His cot was in several hundred pieces on the beach. Anders had his cot, his blankets, and his mother’s pillow. 

They strung a line between two stalagmites, and hung their wet bedding in front of the lit brazier. Their packs had protected most of their belongings, allowing them to pull on dry clothes against the cave’s chill.

“We have no more firewood, now the driftwood’s soaked,” Fenris pointed out.

“We have stones.”

“Testicles will not keep us warm, mage.”

 _“Rocks,_ Fenris. We’ll put rocks in the brazier, and I’ll heat them with a fire spell. They’ll give off warmth for quite a while.”

“Good thinking.”

“I’m more than just a pretty face.”

Sitting on their only cot, they watched the storm rage. The cave vibrated with each thunderclap, lighting strikes on the beach and over the water flashing in their dim surroundings.

“Lake Calenhad got storms like this. There weren’t many windows in the tower, but I always found one to watch the display. No matter how angry the storm, I wished I could was in it, out of the Circle, and free like the wind.”

“You escaped many times, did you not?”

A proud smile answered that. “Damn right. Seven times.”

“How did they keep finding you?”

“My phylactery, same as any mage.”

“What is a phylactery?”

“It’s a vial of blood. The templars can use it to track a mage.”

Fenris looked at him with surprise. “Is that not akin to blood magic?”

“Akin? It _is_ blood magic. Hypocritical bastards. I didn’t make it easy for them, I tell you that.”

“Were you not disciplined? When a slave attempts escape, they are severely punished.”

“Not for a long time, no. After my sixth escape, they put me in solitary confinement. That... that was bad.”

“And on the seventh, you met the Grey Wardens?”

“The templars escorting me back to the Circle stopped at Vigil's Keep for the night. As luck would have it, darkspawn attacked, and killed the bucket heads. The Hero of Ferelden--who's also a mage, by the way--conscripted me.”

“So... you didn’t necessarily _want_ to join the Wardens?”

“It never crossed my mind. But, if it meant staying out of the Circle, I was more than willing to devote myself to their cause. I’d rather have died, than gone back.”

“Would they have made you Tranquil?”

“Maybe. There was talk. After I got out of solitary... I wasn’t....” He broke off, chewing his lip. He’d never spoken of his time in solitary--or the time after his release--to anyone. 

“I understand, if you don’t wish to discuss it.”

He nodded, grateful for the elf’s perception. 

“Why did you leave the Wardens? And, don’t tell me it was because they took your cat.”

“Aren’t you just the curious little elf.”

“I am not little. But yes, I am curious.”

Anders considered carefully. This was a frightening tale, and he wasn’t sure how Fenris would react. They were different, now. They’d gone through life and death, they’d shared and learned. But, could their fledgeling friendship withstand this confession?

“I’ve never told this story. To anyone. And, I guarantee you won’t like it. But, I’ll tell it if you really want to know.”

Fenris seemed to be gauging him. He nodded.

“I wish to hear this story.”

_Maker, guide my words._

“I told you about Justice coming to me, and asking if I was ready to join with him.”

“Yes.”

“Well... he joined with me. Right then, right there. I don’t know exactly what happened. When I came-to, I was confused. I couldn’t tell if I was me, or him, or us. Then, before I even understood what I was, I realized I’d been found by some Wardens, and not just any Wardens. There was a former templar... Rolan... he’d been watching me since he joined.

“They’d seen us merge, and Rolan said the Wardens wouldn’t harbor an abomination. There was a battle. I destroyed them. All of them. I took Rolan’s sword through the heart... and lived. I tore his head off, Fenris... with my bare hands. After that... I don’t remember. I came back to myself, standing in the burning forest. Bodies lay all around... no, not bodies. Body _parts._ Limbs... eaten flesh....”

He stopped. The bile was rising in his throat at the memory. The horrible, awful memory.

“Then, you ran,” Fenris said.

He nodded. “There was no place for me in the Wardens, anymore. No place for me, anywhere. So I left. I only knew one person who might understand... who might accept what I'd become.”

“Karl. In the Gallows. That’s why you came to Kirkwall.”

He nodded. “Yes. Karl. In the Gallows.”

They were quiet for a time, only the storm breaking the silence in the cave. Anders studied Fenris from the corner of his eye. His face was impassive, eyes fixed on nothing. He wondered how much damage telling this tale would do. Finally, Fenris spoke.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Are you... are we...?”

“Be at ease. We are fine. I’ll not lie... it wasn't easy to hear.”

“I know. I must seem monstrous to you. A true abomination.”

“My opinion of your demon has not changed. My opinion of you is... greater.”

“How? What I did--”

“What you did, you regret. You are frightened of what you are.”

“I’d hardly say that.”

 _“You_ can’t say it, because you cannot admit it to yourself, and still carry on. But, I know regret, Anders. I understand fear of the demon that controls you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the day I ran from Danarius.”

Anders waited, but there was no further explanation. He didn’t press. Maker knew, it hadn’t been easy to tell his own story; he wouldn’t push Fenris to tell his.

It was growing dark, and the storm showed no sign of stopping. Anders created a floating flame to light their impromptu campsite. The blankets had dried, and none too soon; it was growing colder in the damp cavern. They pulled the brazier close to the cot, blankets over their shoulders as they cooked a simple meal. 

“Whiskey would go well, right now,” Fenris said. “Warm our insides.”

“Hot spiced cider.”

“What?”

“My mother used to make it on cold, winter nights. She’d heat apple cider spiced with cinnamon. It smelled delicious, and tasted even better.”

“Cinnamon is rare, even in Tevinter.”

“I know. A vender of spices and herbs would come through the village every few years. Vati always managed to put together enough coin to get some for Mutti. She loved cinnamon.”

“I like apples.”

“I noticed.”

“They don’t grow well in Tevinter. Here, they’re on every roadside, growing wild.”

“There’s no blackberries in the Free Marches. They grow like weeds all over Ferelden. I miss them.”

“I have never had any.”

“Wish I could get some for you. A night like this, warm blackberry cobbler... I’m making myself homesick. Mutti’s cooking was incredible.”

“You often mention your parents. Do you miss them?”

“More than I like to admit. I was an only child, and my parents and I were very close.” He picked up the pillow beside him on the cot. “My mother made this. It’s all I was allowed to take when the templars took me away. I remember her working on it in the evenings, while my father played the lute, or we all talked. I can see both their faces, clear as yesterday.”

“Did you never see them, again?”

“No. We weren’t allowed contact.” He ran his hands over the embroidery. “You don’t remember anything about your family, do you?”

“No. Only what Hadriana told me of my sister.”

Fenris stood and stretched. 

“We can take the cot in turns,” Fenris said. “I’ll take the floor, tonight.”

It was a reasonable plan, but for one problem. The floor turned out to be far too cold and damp to lie upon. Even on the cot, the chill woke Anders in the night. He heard Fenris’ teeth chattering, and saw the damp had soaked through the insulating blankets under the elf, who now shivered in his sleep.

“Fenris... wake up. You’re gonna get pneumonia down there.” Anders shot flames at the stones in the brazier, heating them again. Fenris stood stiffly, shivering.

“Come here; I’ve got some warm clothes for you. It’s a tight fit to share the cot, but at least we can keep each other warm.”

He pulled on some socks and his heavy robe. He guided the shivering elf’s arms into an oversized tunic, and shoved his feet into some socks. Fenris didn’t argue, allowing Anders to dress him.

It was snug, fitting two men on one cot, but between their shared body heat and the brazier, they were able to find relatively comfortable sleep.

The morning dawned calm and muggy. Emerging from their nest, they found the beach barely recognizable. Familiar pieces of driftwood were gone, and new ones washed ashore. The sand was soaked, moisture rising in a nearly visible haze, making the air thick and sultry. The remnants of Fenris’ cot had been blown away.

“My knife’s gone.”

“And your collection of shells and rocks. Looks like there’s plenty new ones to choose from.”

Fenris peeled off his borrowed tunic. 

“Not on the sand, if you please,” he said. He fumbled to catch it when it was carelessly tossed toward him. “I’m getting another clothesline up before you dump everything in the sand.”

“You are excessively tidy.”

“You are excessively sloppy.”

They walked to the shoreline, and let out groans of disappointment. The water was a silty soup of sand and debris. 

“That’s just nasty,” Anders moaned.

“You think every storm will be as bad?”

“Maker, I hope not. I can’t stay locked in that cave every damn night.”

“We should probably plan for it. I’ll see if I can cobble another cot together.”

“Awww. I thought it was cuddly, last night.” He smirked at Fenris’ raised eyebrow.

“I am not cuddly.”

“A little sharp at the elbows, but definitely cuddly.”

Anders doubted there was enough wood left from their packing crates to build another cot, which could make sleep tricky. His neck and arm were stiff from laying in one position most of the night. Though they’d been considerably warmer, neither could stretch out nor roll over. Although his tone was teasing, he’d spoken truth; Fenris _was_ cuddly. He was surprisingly warm, and a perfect fit to spoon in front of him. Even so, it was an uncomfortable fit for both of them.

As he gathered rocks to heat for cooking, he found Fenris’ knife blade poking out of the sand. The wooden grip was somewhat blackened, and a bizarre, beautiful, feathery pattern now graced the metal blade. He brought it to the cave with the rocks.

“Look what I found.”

Fenris crouched, surrounded by the paltry remains of their crates. He looked up when Anders tossed the knife on the cot.

“How did you find it?”

“I’m an excellent tracker.” 

“Tracker,” Fenris snorted. “You can’t find your towel every-other day.”

“Because _you_ keep stealing it. How’s the cot coming?”

“It’s not. We don’t have enough wood. Although, I think I can widen this one. We’ll have to share, but it’ll be more comfortable than it is now.”

“Fair enough. With our combined blankets, it’ll at least be warm.”

He could see by Fenris’ expression he wasn’t pleased with sharing a bed on a regular basis. But at the moment, there was little to be done about it. Once he’d completed the expansion, and their blankets were combined on the cot, Anders thought it would serve well enough. There was room to lie flat, side by side; but he had no doubt their limbs would intermingle. He rubbed his ribs; He hadn't lied about Fenris' sharp elbows.

As days passed, the humidity drained them both. They had a choice between damp cold, in the cave; or damp heat, on the beach. The water of the cove remained a silty, debris-filled soup in which neither could bring themselves to swim. They dipped in the frigid spring in the cave when the heat was too much, but the humidity was the real discomfort. Anders tried firing the moisture off the floor and walls of the cave, but only succeeded in turning it into a temporary sauna. 

Standing on the muggy beach as Fenris focused on creating ice from nothing, they sweated and suffered.

“Don’t try too hard. Like the energy bolts, your power wants to come out. You just need to find the right outlet to do it in a controlled manner. Imagine a hole in the space before you, through which your power can escape.”

Fenris stood with closed eyes, concentrating on his energy’s flow. Anders was continually impressed with his willpower and discipline. As he watched, a small flurry of snow formed and melted in the heat.

“Great! Can you do it again?”

Fenris could, and this time the snow combined into a small pile of ice. 

“Excellent! Gah, with this heat, I almost wish I’d started you with ice instead of arcane bolts. A nice, heavy snowfall would be welcome, right now.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

Anders looked at the setting sun, and motioned toward the cave. “The color of your magical energy.”

“What do you mean?” They made their way into the cave before the cooling air of sunset triggered a storm. They didn’t always hit so early, but it was better safe than sorry.

“Well, it’s not a proven theory, and it’s not always reliable, but the color your pure magical energy takes often indicates which form of magic is dominant. Your energy’s violet, so I took it to mean arcane energy was strongest within you. You proved me wrong, of course.”

Although his bolts were quickly learned, and impressive... they were the only arcane spell Fenris could produce. Shields, walls, weapons, barriers... none of it came to him the way bolts had. Nor the way ice did, later. 

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know, honestly. You’re far more effective in ice than arcane magic. If that’s your primary magic, I would expect your magical energy to be colored accordingly.”

“You manifested fire, but your magic is blue.”

Anders fired the rocks on the brazier, and they sat facing each other on the cot.

“Once I became well-versed in healing, my magical energy turned blue. If a particular school of magic becomes predominant, the energy's color can change. Not always, of course. Magic isn’t an exact study. In fact, some people manifest with atypical magic, as opposed to elemental energy.”

“Such as?”

“There was an Enchanter in the Circle whose eyes began changing color, as a little girl. Another started conjuring music out of thin air.”

“In Tevinter, there are mages with very weak powers; too weak to train, or cause danger. They exist in a social limbo. Many end up as slaves.” 

Anders nodded. “It happens in the South, too. Mages whose powers do no more than cause ants to run in circles, or pink spots to form on walls. Templars test them, and if they’re not a threat, they can live free, with occasional assessment. It can be hard for them to marry, since no one wants to risk mage children.”

A thunderclap sounded on the beach, heralding a sudden shower. After the first ferocious storm, those that followed had been considerably calmer. They cooked and ate in the dim light of Anders’ magical flames. 

“How are mages trained in Tevinter?”

Fenris shrugged. “I never saw children trained. I understand they learn the basics at home, then go to a Circle, or study in an apprenticeship.” 

“Hadriana looked somewhat mature to be an apprentice.”

“Those without money or standing often vie to be apprenticed to a powerful magister, even into adulthood. There is always more to study, more depravities to perform, more blood magic to explore.”

“You bring that up, a lot. There must mages in Tevinter that don’t use blood magic.”

“Of course. There are slaves. The magisters do not hesitate to collar their own kind.”

“But, no magisters?”

“No magister would turn down an advantage over his rivals. If he did, he’d be dead.”

“You know, to use blood magic you must look a demon in the eye and accept his offer. I just figured some of them would say no. For aesthetic reasons, if nothing else.”

“Power _is_ the aesthetic behind blood magic.”

They were quiet a while, sitting on the cot, eating their supper. The fresh fruit and meat Hawke had brought was long gone, eaten before it could go bad. They were back to salted and smoked meats, and dried fruits. And the ubiquitous nuts, cheese, and hardtack.

“You know what we should have brought?” Fenris asked.

“What?”

“A flock of chickens. Fresh eggs would be a welcome addition. We could cook one bird per week, for fresh meat.”

“Damn. Next time, you’re in charge of food. There’s nothing for an entire flock to eat on the beach, though.”

“They can eat the smoked fish.”

Anders laughed. “I may never eat fish, again.”

“You don’t have to eat it all.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

Fenris snorted. “You are surely the best of friends, then.”

“I must be, if you can look past Justice.”

“Don’t delude yourself on that count. I do not look past the demon. But, it does not follow I believe you less of a man for possessing it. I would be Tranquil or dead, if not for your efforts. You’re dedicated to those who are poor and helpless. You see wrongs and wish to set them right. Yes, there is a demon within you, but even so, you are a better man than most.” 

Anders couldn’t speak for a moment. His throat was thick, and eyes hot. He’d never been given so high a compliment, by anyone. He turned his head and tried to blot the sudden moisture in his eyes against his shoulder.

“Mage.”

“What?” His voice was rough.

Arms awkwardly encircled him. He leaned into the slender form holding him. It was the first time Fenris had initiated an embrace between them, making it all the more meaningful.

“I would argue you’re the best of friends,” he murmured.

A huff of air warmed his ear. “We’ll call it a draw.”

As they continued their meal, Anders thought about friendship. 

“When I was first taken to the Circle, I refused to make friends. I wasn't going to get comfortable. I was going home, and that’s all there was to it. After my first few escapes, kids kept clear of me, anyway. No one wanted to be associated with a trouble-maker. I mean, everyone seemed to _like_ me. But, it was all superficial interaction. Jokes, turning on the charm."

“What about Karl?”

He smiled. “Karl was the game-changer. After we became friends, others took a closer look. Of course, in time, we became more than friends. To this day, I’m not sure how we ended up together. He was so quiet and serious. You know how they say women choose husbands who remind them of their fathers? I think I picked a man who reminded me of mine. They were both quiet, serious, wise, and gentle. Except Karl didn’t turn from me in horror.”

“I am glad we have become friends. Especially considering our sleeping arrangements.”

Anders snorted. “Can you imagine us like this, six months ago?”

"I would have been wearing my armor to sleep."

"Ouch. Talk about sharp elbows."

For all they’d been thrust into sharing a too-small bed, they did surprisingly well. Fenris was a quiet sleeper, except when he muttered in his dreams. And, his dreams had decreased dramatically since they began sleeping in such close proximity. Anders couldn’t say the same for himself. 

After a fortnight of storms, he began suffering from their time in the cave. The space wasn’t particularly small, but at night, it was so dark, so dank, so cold. His sleep became troubled, and his dreams became bleak. 

_Darkness pressed in on him, suffocating him. He felt along the walls of his cell, searching for a crack, a chink, a hole to let in light. Just a little light. His breath was loud in his ears. The air was chilly, yet he sweated in terror. He had to find the light light light light light light._

_“Anders... calm yourself. There will be light in the morning. You can make it through the night. I’m with you.”_

_“Karl? Karl! Don’t leave me... you always leave... Maker, please, don’t leave me.” don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me. “I can’t survive it, again.” He sank to the floor, arms limp._

_“I’m here... I’m with you... calm yourself.”_

_“Maker... let it end. I can’t take anymore. I have to get out. Karl... Karl? Karl! Karl, don’t go! Don’t go! Don’t go!”_

_A woman’s voice came next. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m right here. I’m with you....”_

_“Mutti? Mutti! He left again. We were happy together... why did he leave me?”_

_“He didn’t leave you, my son. He was taken from you, as you were taken from me. Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry....”_

_“I can’t take anymore, Mutti. I can’t.... Mutti? Mutti! No... don’t go! Don’t go!”_

_He stood, and pounded on the walls, his fists bruised and bloody from an eternity of pounding. “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE! MAKER, PLEASE, LET ME OUT!!” let me out let me out let me out let me out._

Anders jerked awake, voice gasping. “... let me out!” 

He was still in darkness. _Maker, no..._ he was still in the tower cell. A flash of lightning lit the cave. Where was he? A body beside him shifted, someone touched his arm. 

“You alright?” 

Fenris. He was in the cave. On the coast. With Fenris. 

“I need to get out....” 

He stumbled off the cot, and out of the cave. Rain beat down on him, as lightning flashed and thunder rolled. He raised his face to the sky, and let the storm wash away the memories. 

By the time wind and rain finally chased the shadows from his mind, his hair and clothing were soaked through. He sloshed back through the cave entrance, shivering, and saw Fenris standing with a towel and blanket.

“Lose the clothes.”

He did as bade, drying himself with the proffered towel. Fenris draped the blanket about him, and led him back to the cot. They sat quietly together, as Anders shook off the last of the dream. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve not slept well for several nights. You talk in your sleep, of wanting out.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t be.” 

They watched the storm a while. Finally, Anders spoke.

“There was a small, glass-paned window in the cell, too high to reach. If the sky was overcast, nights were dark... so dark. Those nights were the hardest.”

“You speak of your time in solitary confinement.”

“Yes.”

“Karl was gone by then, was he not?”

“Yes. But, I heard his voice. Sometimes, my mother’s. There were times I knew they weren’t real; but other times.... I lost my mind in that cell, Fenris.”

“You still have your mind.”

“Sometimes, I wonder.”

He couldn’t recall all of that year. The cell had been a bare room with a ceiling the height of six men. There were no furnishings, no decor, no windows save for one near the ceiling. His mind struggled to remain rooted in reality in the absence of stimuli.

“You are here, now, and I assure you, your mind is intact.”

“They left me there, Fenris.” He was surprised at the emotion flooding him with such old memories. It had been six years since he’d walked out of that cell, yet in the wake of his dream, it felt like he’d just left. “They left me in that fucking hole to rot.”

There had been no communication. No one spoke to him. He wasn’t allowed Karl’s letters. The templars standing guard outside his door never spoke. He saw them only when they escorted him to a nearby room to bathe; even then, they wore their helms. The water... it had been such joy to simply feel water against his skin. 

He’d paced the cell, endlessly. Counting his steps, counting his breaths. He watched the light from the window move across the walls, too high to touch his face. He examined his food minutely to occupy his mind. A small tray pushed through the door slot each day, with the bare sustenance of bread, or fruit, or meat, and a tin of water. 

“No one talked to me. In all that time, no voices, but those in my head. It was as though I didn’t exist. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure I did. When I wake from dreams like tonight... I don’t know if I’m still there or not. I don’t know if I’m real.”

His hand was taken in a firm grip.

“You are real. I see you. I hear you.”

He clung to Fenris’ hand, anchoring him in the reality outside the dream. Outside the cell.

They sat that way a while. Finally, Anders spoke, again.

“Demons came. They made so many offers, so many temptations. They took the shape of friends, of family.” Anders huffed a dark laugh. “I actually looked forward to their visits. At least something acknowledged my existence. They didn’t come often... I always turned them down. They probably didn’t try very hard. They got more sustenance if they left me to scream in desolation.”

Which, he had. 

“You refused demons... in a time of such great suffering?”

“Of course.”

“Did the templars not understand the risk they’d put you in?”

“They didn’t care, Fenris. Haven’t I made that clear? If I’d become an abomination, they’d have simply killed me. That’s why they were stationed outside my door. I couldn’t see them, but I smelled them there. I begged them to talk to me, to look at me. I offered myself up for beatings, for sex, for anything that meant I would be acknowledged, in any way. I think they enjoyed my begging more than what I offered.”

Fenris’ hand in his squeezed, reminding him he was seen, and touched, and heard.

“The only living creature I saw besides armored suits, was Mr. Wiggums.”

“Mr. Wiggums?” Fenris asked.

“He was a cat; a tower mouser. He would sneak into my cell. Until the day he was possessed by a demon, and kill several templars. I was so proud... it was like a fantasy come true, watching those bastards drown in flame. Of course, I had no company after that. Just voices. Just demons. Just the beckoning madness.” 

“But, you didn’t go mad. You survived, Anders. They let you out.”

“Yes, they did let me out, finally. I don’t remember much of that time, either. What I recall most is how I could hardly stand to be touched, or spoken to; I nearly came out of my skin.

“It was months before I could write a coherent letter to Karl. He was still my closest friend. He knew me better than anyone. It was his words that helped restore some semblance of sanity to my mind, that gave me strength to fight my way back into reality.

“Eventually, I could focus on healing, again. I could carry on conversations. And, if there were times my mind went back into the cell, or darkness overtook me; I was at least able to find my way back to the light, again.”

“Yet, after after all you went through, you escaped again. You risked further punishment.”

“After the Blight began, things changed at the Circle. A lot of templars and mages were lost at Ostagar. Rumors of blood magic spread through the tower. Apparently, I was included in those rumors; my behavior was deemed erratic, my moods unstable. Word got to me; I was being considered for the Rite of Tranquility.

“They’d thrown me in that cell. They’d driven me mad. And now, after I’d survived it, they were going to finish the job? I knew I had to leave, and there would be no coming back. So yes. I escaped, again.” 

They were quiet for a long moment before Fenris spoke.

“What they did to you was cruel. It was wrong. I’m glad you escaped them. I'm glad you are free.”

Anders couldn't speak for the emotion clogging his throat. He squeezed the hand in his, trying to convey his gratitude.

Fenris squeezed back, understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solitary confinement is... unconscionable. It kinda pesters me that Anders' background includes a _year_ of solitary confinement, yet the canon explores none of how it affected him, nor how he adapted afterward. It's a HUGE factor to simply ignore. I don't know... it's like making a point of saying he lost an entire limb, yet portraying him fully intact. 
> 
> And... just a touch of Wil and Mina in this chapter. ;-)


	14. Misconceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders gives Fenris food for thought.
> 
> Fenris gives Anders a glimpse of a slave's life.

The two men made for the water, swimming toward the farthest reach of the cove. The storms had finally ceased, leaving the land and air to give up their moisture. As though to make up for the temporary excess, the air was now drier and hotter than before. Luckily, the water of the cove cleared, allowing them to return to swimming in the heat of the day. 

Anders watched Fenris’ progress, pleased with his comfort in deep water. When they reached the furthest underwater rock platform, they climbed upon it and sat; water sloshing around them. They had a clear view of the reef that kept the cove calm, and the Waking Sea beyond it.

“I’ll miss swimming when we return to the city,” Fenris said. 

“We have almost two months left.”

Fenris nodded. He'd grown attached to the place. He liked the weather, he liked the swimming, he liked the rambling conversations with Anders. He hoped they would still have those, when they left. Anders spoke of further training once back home. Fade work, the idea of which made him squirm. He trusted Anders to know his business.

They sat quietly, feeling the warm sun, comfortable together. Their time in the cave, during the storms, had strengthened the unexpected connection they shared. Fenris had a new appreciation for Anders’ experience in the Circle. He also understood just how strong Anders truly was.

His time in solitary confinement was not something most men could walk away from as well as he had. Anders had spiraled into madness, and somehow returned. That he’d not succumbed to a demon during that time was unprecedented. That he still maintained faith in the Maker, equally so.

“You know the Chant well,” Fenris said.

“Pretty well. I don’t sing it much, anymore.”

“Was there a time you went to the Chantry?”

“Attending services was required in the Circle; they needed us to feed on their false doctrine. Before then, I learned the Chant from my parents. Our village had no Chantry. They worshipped as families, and the entire village gathered for holiday celebrations.”

“I wonder how different it is from the Imperial Chant of Light.”

“I’m curious, too... but it’s too dangerous to try to find out.”

“Not that it matters,” Fenris shrugged. “Neither seem to follow even the most basic tenets. The South ignores magic is the Maker’s gift, and the Imperium ignores magic should never rule over man. What good is the Chant, if no one follows it correctly?”

Anders laughed. “Well said. Its hypocrisy is eternal as Andraste’s flames. Is it true the Black Divine is a man?”

“It is. Female magisters are angry women aren’t eligible. Tevinter also allows men to be Fathers, not just Brothers.”

“You know, that part doesn’t seem so strange to me. My father taught me most of what I know about the Maker and the Chant.”

Fenris nodded, rubbing his lips together. Anders noticed.

“The dry air chaps our lips. Lift your head a bit.” He gently stroked a blue-lit fingertip along the irritated skin. Fenris shivered at the tickling sensation. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Have to keep you in kissing condition.”

“Just who am I to be kissing?”

“Whatever lucky person catches your eye.”

“Then, I shall remain unkissed.”

“You mean you’ve never been kissed?”

Fenris had been kissed many times. He’d been trained in the art of kissing. Yet, none had been by his choice, anymore than the touch that accompanied them. 

“What are you getting at, mage?”

“Nothing. None of my business. OK, I’m a little curious. You don’t seem to have erotic interests, and I’m just....”

“Nosy.”

“Curious.”

“I’ve not noticed you with anyone, either. Have you no erotic interests?”

Anders snorted. “Oh, I have interests.” He eyed Fenris curiously. “So, you’ve never...?”

“Never...?”

“Been with someone? In an erotically interesting way?”

He had been with many someones. He’d never considered it particularly interesting, however. 

“I’ve been bedded, yes.”

“More than once? Man, or woman?”

“Both men and women. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just... I don’t know... curious.”

As he watched Anders’ face he saw... something. Embarrassment? Anxiety? Certainly no judgement or mocking.

“What of yourself?”

Unexpectedly, Anders flushed, ducking his head. Fenris suddenly understood, though he could hardly believe it. 

“You are... untouched.”

Anders visibly squirmed, face brilliant red.

“Well, I’ve been _touched..._ sort of. Not _that_ way... entirely. I’ve... been kissed a lot.”

Fenris was having a hard time fitting this confession into his understanding of the mage. Anders was often flirtatious, made lewd jokes, seemed to have an understanding of sexual matters, and was well into his adult years.

“See? That look on your face is why I don’t tell anyone.”

“Whatever look I may have, it is not derogatory. I'm simply surprised.”

“Yeah... you and me both.”

“This condition is not by choice?”

 _“Condition?_ It’s not a disease, for Maker’s sake.”

“You present yourself as an experienced lover. The things you say, the places you’ve been. You met Isabela in a brothel.” 

“Brothels are great hiding places for someone on the run. But sex... for me... it’s an intimate thing. I just... wanted to actually care for someone, first. Which really made me an oddball in the Circle.”

“Why is that?” 

“Sex was rampant among apprentices. It’s not that I didn’t join in the debauchery... I spent my share of time lip-locked behind bookshelves. Karl was the first to show me the joys of kissing. But kissing and copping a feel, that’s as far as I went.”

“I understood you and Karl had been intimate.”

“We _were_ intimate, up to a point. Kissing, touching, caring. And we _wanted_ to consummate our feelings. But, there’s no privacy in the Circle; templars are everywhere, watching everything. Sure, people were having sex everywhere; but they were getting caught, too.”

“Were they punished?”

“No. It wasn’t forbidden, exactly. But, the templars... they were such unbelievable pricks. They _loved_ catching couples in the act. They’d shout, and pull them apart, and generally humiliate them. All in the name of discouragement. And I was _damned_ if a bloody templar was going to witness Karl and I in such an intimate moment. The thought of him being treated like a rutting dog... it infuriated me.

“Anyway, we agreed to wait until after our Harrowing before we went further. We’d be out of the apprentice dormitories, and have a little more privacy.” 

“But, that day never arrived,” Fenris said.

“The morning after his Harrowing, Karl was marched out the door... and, I wouldn’t see him again for over ten years. Oh, Maker... losing him broke my heart. I escaped, to follow him, to turn myself in at the Gallows, so we could be together. They caught me at the docks, trying to buy passage. We were at least allowed to write, but it wasn’t the same. And, eventually... time passed... hearts healed... things changed.”

“You drifted apart?” 

“Yes, and no. We stayed close friends, and continued writing; but it’s hard to maintain physical intimacy when separated by an ocean. I eventually found myself back in the Circle kissing-pool. I enjoyed myself, but I knew better than to develop deep attachments. And, without an emotional connection, I just didn’t... well... I remained _untouched._ It’s probably foolish.”

“It’s not foolish. Why do you feel shame in this?”

“It’s not shame, really. I don’t regret my decision. But, come on, Fenris. I’m a thirty-four-year-old virgin. Can you imagine if Isabela or Varric found out? I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Don’t tell them. I certainly won’t. But your life isn’t over, Anders. You may again find someone for whom you care that deeply.”

“I doubt it. You know what I am. You know what I’m trying to do. With Justice, I think that part of me is over.” 

Fenris understood. He had no anticipation, nor desire, for future intimacies. Even so, he had no particular enmity toward sex. It had simply been another skill to learn, another command to follow, another use his body was put to. Serving, fighting, fucking... all were the same. 

He found Anders’ untried state admirable. He had desired something meaningful, and eschewed a lesser experience. Whether or not he chose to be in this situation, it showed his character. It was another example of his gentle idealism.

They made their way back to shore for lunch. Fenris had begun attempts at food preparation, with Anders’ close supervision. Mostly he stuck to dried fruit and cheese, and tea. Boiling water, he could manage.

Anders wrapped his towel about his hips and sat on their cot. He shot up, immediately, hand cupping his behind. 

_“What the Void?”_

Lifting the blankets, he pulled out a large seashell covered with spines. He looked at it in disbelief.

“Fenris. Honestly.”

He took it from him. “I like this shell. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“I agree, it’s unusual. But a spine up the ass from a sea snail isn’t how I imagined losing my virginity.”

Fenris burst into laughter. He was pleased Anders didn’t regret sharing his intimate history. And, the image was comical.

Anders looked at him with delight. “I’ve never heard you laugh, before.”

“I laugh... when something is funny.”

“Not around me. You snort, and smirk, and occasionally scoff. Here, give it back. It’s worth sitting on, to hear again.”

He snickered, cradling it protectively. “You weren’t supposed to sit on it, the first time.” 

“I’m not sure I could have avoided it. You’ve got a treasure trove under our blankets.”

He didn’t know what expression he wore, but it made Anders rush to reassure him.

“I don’t mind... it’s mostly on your side, anyway. I just don’t understand why you suffer such a lumpy bed.”

“Slaves aren’t allowed possessions.”

“You’re not a slave.”

He looked at the spiky shell. “From time to time, Danarius would reward me with a gift; just cheap baubles. But when you have nothing, even a child’s plaything is precious. The only place I had to keep them was under my pallet. It is... habit.”

“Now I feel bad for complaining.”

“Don’t. It’s not of import.”

“Put anything you want under our blankets. Seriously. But, the spines could break off that shell, if my bony ass lands on it wrong.”

“Your ass is not bony.”

“Well, it’s not meaty.”

“Your ass if fine.”

Anders grinned. “I have a fine ass?”

Fenris smirked, looking at his shell.

“Don’t trawl for compliments.”

“You said it, not me.”

Once they’d moved back onto the beach, they’d tried sleeping on the sand in turns. But, the occasional itchy bites they’d earlier received, increased dramatically when sleeping on the sand. Which was why they still shared their bed, under the lightning-split tree. The tree, surprisingly, had survived its misfortune, with a split most of the way down its trunk. And, now, the spiny shell was hung from it, above the head of the cot, for safekeeping.

Sharing a bed had been difficult for Fenris, at the start. He’d only ever shared a bed for one reason, and he found his sleep suffering. For the better part of the first week, he’d wakened with a jolt each time Anders shifted. About the time he’d grown accustomed to having a bedmate, Anders had begun his nightmares. The month of storms had made sleep difficult for both of them. Back on the beach, both rested easier. 

He was fast growing proficient with the icy aspects of his magic. He could create gentle snowfall, slick patches of ice, wide areas of frost, and large ice stalagmites. Anders was delighted with his progress, saying it was typical for a mage to progress faster, the more they learned. 

“A snowball effect, if you’ll pardon the pun. The more you learn, the faster you learn.”

“You said I’d have to learn to deal with demons, as well.”’

“Absolutely. That’s going to be trickier.”

“Do you intend to use your demon?” 

Fenris was not looking forward to this aspect of his training. He had no doubts he could refuse any demon’s offer. He was more concerned about being in the Fade, where demons could play with his mind, picking at his thoughts. 

“Fenris...” he sighed. “Listen. The Chant tells us the Maker’s first children were spirits. He grew discouraged with them, and created man. Some of those spirits grew envious of the Maker’s attention to mankind. That envy, that desire, is how demons were created. But, demons and spirits are _not_ the same. This is an important concept for you to understand, going into the Fade.”

“Your demon said spirits who were perverted by their desires became demons.”

“Right.”

“Then, is not a spirit simply a demon in the making?”

“No.”

“Like the caterpillar and butterfly to which you compared me. The caterpillar is not a butterfly, but will inevitably become one. How can you trust a spirit that could, at any moment, become a demon?”

Anders was shaking his head. “Damn, Fenris. You’ve got a quick mind. That’s a decent comparison, if not a true parallel. Caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly is a natural progression of growth. Becoming a demon is _not_ a natural progression for a spirit. It’s a perversion.”

Fenris scowled. He’d never seen anything good come out of the Fade.

“How much do you know about Spirit Healing?” Anders asked.

“I was not aware it was different from any other healing magic.”

“Any mage with a brain can learn a healing spell. Spirit Healing goes beyond that. In order to take healing and restoration past that basic level, Spirit Healers summon benevolent spirits through the Veil. Those spirits use their abilities on our behalf... for healing... for positive work.”

Fenris was surprised. How many times had he fought alongside Anders? Summoning across the Veil was no small trick. Yet, Anders summoned spirits from the Fade while actively engaged in combat? And, bade the spirits to perform at his behest?

This man had also resisted demonic seduction during a year of near-madness. He'd had the strength to survive the Grey Warden Joining. This, plus calling and commanding spirits for healing, bespoke singular strength of will.

He looked at Anders through narrowed, speculative eyes. "Just how powerful _are_ you?”

Anders shrugged. “I’ve got some skills. What I’m getting at, is benevolent spirits have been working with me for more than a decade, and _not one of them_ has shown any demonic interest.”

Fenris wasn’t comfortable with what he’d just learned. It challenged his ingrained beliefs, and his instinct was to simply ignore it. Yet, he _couldn’t_ ignore it. He also couldn’t hear any more at the moment.

“I need to think.”

“Sure.”

He swam out, alone. Once he’d reached the farthest edge of the cove, he rolled onto his back and floated, looking at the blue sky above. Learning to think for himself had been difficult when he’d first left Danarius. Now that he could, challenges to his beliefs were typically met with steadfast denial, and often anger. He would never again be told what, or how, to think. 

Since his magic resurfaced, his beliefs had been challenged many times; usually by Anders. Although he’d begun to accept those challenges more constructively, his knee-jerk reaction was still denial. This idea of benevolent spirits did not sit well with him. Yet, he was now recalling other Fade creatures he’d seen in Tevinter. 

Many Imperial nobles had bizarre and extraordinary creatures in their estates. These curiosities had been described as spirits; weak Fade creatures that had been summoned and enslaved, made to serve the magisters’ whims. Danarius had no such creatures. He felt weak spirits such as those were not proper spirits, at all. When he went to the effort of summoning something from the Fade, it was a demon... the stronger, the better. Power drove Danarius, not household frippery.

After all this time, was he still reflecting Danarius’ opinions in this matter? That spirits of power were demons, and the rest mere curiosities? This notion _had_ to be wrong. Any being with the strength, and willingness, to produce the healing power Anders wielded was no living lamp.

Justice. What was this creature possessing his friend? Would a being with good intentions purposely inhabit a living host? Did this Justice truly only emerge in times of templar injustice? Fenris had attacked Anders early in their stay at the cove. A demon would have defended itself. Yet, the thing within him had not interfered. 

Was Anders’ assertion that Justice was _not_ a demon, correct? Had Fenris denied the possibility, because the spirit was strong, and Danarius had taught him only demons were strong? Just as he’d taught him so many other lies?

 _Venhedis._ Did he know nothing, any more? Had he ever?

\---------------------------------

It was nearing the time they would leave their temporary home. His magic had been contained for nearly three months. He was proficient at casting arcane bolts, and both creating and dispelling all manner of frozen water. Anders had begun working with him on force magic, though his own work with it was limited to healing treatments. 

Fenris could move small rocks, sticks, sand for short distances. He could pull them back, as well. But, Anders didn’t use the stronger force spells.

“I’m pretty sure the bursts you did were telekinetic. Those are beyond my little healing tricks. We’ll need to find someone else to work with you on the heavy-hitting spells.”

Fenris grunted. He didn’t like the idea of working with another mage, but those were what had done the most damage, so far. He needed training in it.

“How do you use these little bits of force magic for healing?”

“Oh... lots of ways. For instance, I used force magic to push the water out of your lungs, and make you breathe. And, there’s a spell that’s used to widen the birth canal, if needed. We also used it to relieve severe constipation. A lot of that, in new mages.”

“Why?” Was there something he should be aware of?

“There’s no privacy in the apprentice dormitories. The chamberpots are right in view, and templars keep watch, in case someone’s smuggling something up an orifice.”

“And?”

“Well, a lot of the new kids have a hard time taking a shit while being watched. They hold it in, and get constipated, and sometimes very ill. We had to open and lubricate the chute, so to speak, to empty their bowels. By the time they’d been in the Circle a couple months, they pretty much got over their shyness.”

“Ah.”

“But, back to your spell work; you’re picking up some spells really quickly. You’re an adult, with excellent focus, but it’s still unusual. Spells you learn in a month, take other mages a year.”

Fenris sighed. He was tired of being unusual. It rarely boded well. “You have a theory, I presume?”

“Kinda. You didn’t get the lyrium until you were mostly grown, right?”

“So it seems.”

“You probably had magic for quite a while before then. And, you’d have been trained to use it, I assume?”

“Most assuredly.”

“I think you ‘remember’ your training, somewhere in your brain. I’m not so much teaching you, as reminding you of what you already know. ”

“You’re saying I can’t do arcane shields, because I never learned them? But, I picked-up ice so quickly, because I _was_ trained in it?”

“Exactly. I have no doubt you could learn spells you didn’t know before, it would just take much longer. Regardless, I think you’re perfectly safe to return to Kirkwall, even without working on the big force spells. We can address it, later. Along with getting you some Fade experience.”

Fenris grumbled. He did not wish to enter the Fade. Anders noticed.

“I know you don’t like the idea. Come on. I've got an idea to help you make the plunge with less trepidation.”

“I’m not afraid of the Fade.”

Anders laughed. “You’re the last man I’d accuse of cowardice. But, the Fade is something that makes you wary. Follow me.”

Anders headed into the water, and led him to the diving rock. Fenris had never ventured up the stone pillar. Following him up the natural stairway of stone columns, he mounted the flat surface at its top. The entire cove was his to survey. The view was truly spectacular from here, the blue sea glittering into the horizon. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Anders asked.

“It is.”

“The wind... the sun... the sea... it feels so free, up here.”

“When I see you dive, it’s like you’re flying away. I call it your Freedom Dive.”

Anders nodded. “Of course, you’d understand.”

“Any apostate would.” Then, he chuckled. “Pick up your jaw, Anders.”

“I can’t believe you said that.”

“I hate that word. I hate that fact. But, didn’t you tell me an apostate is simply a _free man?_ I’m trying to alter my perception.”

“How’s that working for you?”

“Not very well. But, I persevere.”

Anders sighed, looking into the horizon. “I wish I could stay here, sometimes. Never go back. Never lay eye on another templar.”

“You could.”

Anders shook his head. “I can’t abandon the mages, the people in Darktown... you. I couldn’t live with myself.”

Fenris nodded. “I know.”

Anders looked at him with a strange half-smile. “You know me better than most. Strange, that.”

“It’s not so strange. The only person I’ve spent more time with than you, is Danarius.”

“I hope I at least fare well in the comparison.”

“There is no comparison.”

They sat down, legs dangling over the edge of the pillar.

“You and Danarius... could not be more different. He seeks to subjugate; you seek to liberate. He seeks to harm; you seek to heal. He sought to withhold my past; you seek to give me a future.”

“Fenris... you see me in far kinder light than I deserve.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I left Ferelden because I became an abomination and slaughtered my fellow Wardens. You left Danarius to escape slavery.”

“As it happens, I didn’t intend to run away from him.”

“No?”

“We were on Seheron, when hostilities broke out. I was able to get him to a ship for evacuation, but there was no room for a mere slave. I stood and watched him sail away.”

“You must have been delighted.”

“So you would think. I was not.” He paused, considering his words. “I can look back now, and mock his indignance at leaving me behind. But at the time.... Understand, Anders; for ten years, he’d been the focus of my life. From the time I received the markings, he had been my entire world. I lived to serve him. My greatest joy was his approval.”

“You... _enjoyed_ being his slave?”

“It was not that simple. I knew nothing else... could imagine nothing else. And, losing my master terrified me.”

Anders was visibly confused. “But... you were _free._ Did you not realize that?”

“I did not. I wanted him back. He was everything to me. I needed him to guide me. As soon as I knew he was safe, I fought my way through the battle, all the while hoping he would return for me.”

“Maker’s mercy, Fenris... did you _care_ for him?”

“It is... complicated. A slave puts their master’s needs before their own. They sacrifice all they are, even their life, for him. They care only that their master is happy. Is that not how the bards describe love?”

 _“No!_ You had no choice in the matter! No, that’s _not_ love!”

“Danarius said it was. _You love your master, don’t you my pet?_ he would ask. _Tell me how you love your master._ And... I would.”

Hands cupped his face, turned him to meet Anders’ gaze.

“Fenris... please tell me you no longer believe that?”

“I no longer believe it.”

The hands slid away.

“I was injured in the fighting, and found by a tribe of Fog Warriors. They healed me. I lived with them for a while. They accepted me, and I grew fond of them. They bowed to no master, and fought for their freedom. I learned a way of life I had never known. A way of relating to others as equals. A way of finding my own voice, my own needs. I saw how they loved one another. How affection was freely given. 

“And I finally understood the life I had known, was wrong. I didn’t love Danarius. I was his _servant,_ his _weapon,_ his _pet._ The more I learned, the more I desired freedom. I hoped against hope Danarius would forget about me, and leave me to my new life. Of course, he didn’t. Eventually, he came for me.”

“Did you fight him?” 

“I did not. Even so, the Fog Warriors wouldn’t let him take me.”

“Good.”

“So Danarius commanded me to kill them. And... I did.”

He paused, the memory thick in his mind. Faces he knew, filled with confusion and pain. Blood, bodies, screams of terror.

“Fenris...?”

“It seemed inevitable. My master had returned, and I was once again his slave.”

“Fenris....”

“When I stood among the carnage, and understood what I had done, I ran. I could no longer be his.”

“Oh... Fenris....”

He was pulled into a fierce embrace, which he returned just as fiercely. He’d told Hawke this story, but not revealed such personal detail. Telling it was painful. And yet, it was also liberating. Telling Anders... was _right._

Anders gently rocked him. 

“Fenris... I’m so sorry. Maker, I’m sorry.”

“So do you see, Anders, the light in which I view you is _not_ kinder than you deserve? When you left the Wardens, you were fighting for your life. When I killed the Fog Warriors, I was fighting for a monster. Your soul is clean. Mine is defiled.”

“Your soul is _not_ defiled! What happened was Danarius’ doing, not yours.”

Fenris didn’t break their embrace, allowing himself be soothed by Anders’ open affection. 

Finally, they parted. Anders spoke.

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. This is the sort of thing that eats a man from the inside.”

“I’ve told the story to Hawke... but, not in the same way. I find myself telling you things I would not normally share.”

“I’m glad. I know it was hard to tell, but I understand you so much better, now.”

“Understanding me may not be the positive experience you seem to think.”

“I view you in a kinder light than you view yourself.”

Fenris smirked, looking at the man beside him. He’d become so familiar, since arriving at the cove. And in some ways, changed.

“Your hair is truly blonde, now. Varric’s nickname finally fits.”

Anders chuckled, and the atmosphere lightened. “He should call me Spotty. I’ve never had so many freckles in my life.”

“You even have them on your ass.”

Anders laughed again, standing and giving Fenris a hand up. 

“OK, just for that... you’re taking the shortcut down.”

“Shortcut?”

“Ready to jump?”

Fenris started. _“Jump?_ No one said anything about jumping.”

“I’m not talking about a Freedom Dive,” he grinned. “You can go in feet-first.”

Fenris looked over the edge. Now they were talking about jumping, it looked even further down than before.

“It’s very high.”

“It’s not that high up... the water’s just far down.”

“That makes no sense.” Fenris cupped his groin protectively, imagining the impact. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“If it did, do you think I’d do it? As long as you break the water’s surface with hands or feet, you just slide right in.”

He thought of Anders’ smile each time he surfaced after a dive. He obviously enjoyed it.

“What do I do?”

“Just jump. Stay vertical... you don’t want to land on your stomach or back. Keep your legs together and straight to break the water for your sensitive bits.”

His stomach fluttered as he lined his toes along the edge. He took several deep breaths, bent his knees....

“You’ll watch me land? In case I don’t come back up?”

“I’ll watch you.”

He turned back to the edge, bounced experimentally on his toes. He counted to himself; one... two....

“But, you won’t jump too soon after? You won’t land on top of me?”

“I won’t land on top of you.”

He turned back, again. Lined up his toes....

“What if...?”

“Fenris!” Anders laughed. “You’re over-thinking this. Just... jump!”

“Fine... fine. I’m going.”

It was the most exhilarating experience of his life. Terrifying, exciting, never-ending, over-too-soon. 

He sliced neatly into the water, going deeper than he’d thought he would. Swimming to the surface, he whooped with delight. He heard Anders whoop back, laughing. Then, he cleared the fall zone and watched as the mage made his dive.

“Liked it, didn’t you?” Anders asked, swimming to him.

“I did. I’m doing it again.”

He jumped again, and again, and again. Soon, he was taking running starts across the narrow pillar of stone. He learned what Anders meant about landing on his back or belly, because he did both. He also forgot to keep his legs together once. Just once. He felt like he’d been kicked in the groin by a dragon. Anders followed him quickly, and cast healing magic.

“Well, you’ll never forget to keep your feet together, again.”

“No. I need a break, though. I’m hungry, and my balls are scared.”

Anders burst into laughter. “Well, I can help the hunger. Your pansy balls are your problem.”

Yes. Anders helped many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right. You heard it. Anders is a virgin. I saw a lot of room for interpretation, and ran with it, because it just felt so sweet. Where the hell did I find that room, you ask? Basic canon and fanon say Karl took his virginity, and he slept his way thru the Circle and beyond. OK, here goes:  
> He never actually mentions _having_ sex, in either game. He says _"Karl... he was the first."_ First what? First love? First kiss? Then, he goes on to talk about _loving_ someone like you, not doing them. And, understanding how intensely Anders feels, it was easy to imagine him wanting more than simple physical pleasure. Even in the game, he doesn't put moves on Hawke until he's already in love. So... there ya go!
> 
> Fenris' paradigm is being uncomfortably shifted.
> 
> And, I believe the Fog Warrior massacre is far more painful than Fenris lets on in the game. He's a private man, after all.


	15. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of their sojourn draws near.
> 
> Anders is surprised by something unexpected.

It had been three months since they last saw their companions. Both men watched for sails to the north. They had mixed feelings about returning to Kirkwall, but there was really no option in the matter. Anders needed to get back to his work, and both had concerns regarding mage-templar tensions in the city.

“Fenris, I know you’re experienced at evading slavers, but avoiding templars has some unique aspects. Would you like to hear them?”

“Tell me.”

"For one, they can feel your magical energy... just like Samson and Thrask. But they both mentioned your lyrium muddled your magic... so that’ll help camouflage it.”

“How do they not sense you? You walk past templars, all the time.”

“Sensing a mage’s magic takes a bit of focus. If there's enough activity around, enough distraction, it gets lost in the background.”

“What else?”

“If a templar thinks someone is a mage, they often drain their mana before approaching. Not just to disarm them, but to see how they react. Most mages are startled by it, and templars look for their reaction. A non-mage wouldn’t feel a thing, and not respond at all. You've been drained hundreds of times; it won't be as startling to you. If it should happen, don’t let on. Go about your business like you didn't feel a thing.”

“Good. Is there more?”

“You can smell a templar, if they’re close enough. They use sword oil on their blades and armor hinges. Plus, they spend so much time in the Chantry, they pick up the smoke from incense. Incense and sword oil... the smell of hypocrisy and oppression. Get a whiff of it, and you’ll never forget it.”

“That’s how you could smell them guarding your door in the tower.”

“Exactly. Once we’re back in Kirkwall, keep going about your usual business. You’re a known figure in the city, who’s never garnered suspicion as an apostate. Use that. Wear your armor, carry your blade... you’re still a warrior. Keep acting like one. Hell, wear the collar, if you’re worried about being detected.”

“I do not think I could. Sleeping in it was one thing. Wearing it on a daily basis....”

“I understand. Believe me, I do. I know you’re cautious by nature, but for Maker’s sake... if you were picked-up by the templars....” 

“I won’t be. I’m more concerned for you, than myself. You are bold in your actions. Half the city knows of the clinic in Darktown. You work with the mage underground. I do not want you taken in, Anders. I would not stop until you were free, again.”

His heart warmed. He’d not had such an affinity since Karl. The last thing he’d have expected, coming here with Fenris, was friendship.

Fenris was safe to return to society. His magic was, for most purposes, controlled. Two teachings yet remained: Fade experience, and further force magic training. They would address those, in time. But as far as resuming his life, he should be fine.

They continued practicing, while waiting for Hawke. He taught Fenris to release his magic on command, allowing it to swirl about him. He could change the lavender mist into snow, ice, and arcane bolts. He could shape it with his willpower alone, and draw it back within. These were all skills that took most apprentices years to learn. He was more convinced than ever he was ‘reminding’ Fenris, rather than teaching him.

Having called a halt to practice for the day, they raced one another to the water, and the diving rock. They pushed and shoved to gain the lead going up the columnar steps to the top. Side-by-side, they ran and leapt over the edge, whooping as they went. Anders speared himself into a dive, and Fenris fell feet-first.

Their combined splash was impressive. They raced one another to the surface of the water, using each other as push-off points. With another race to the side of the pillar, they began again. 

After a half-dozen or so circuits, they lost their momentum. Lying on top of the diving rock, they rested, soaking in the sun. 

“Do you miss Ferelden?” Fenris asked.

Anders shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Would you return?”

“Mmmm... probably not. I'm pretty well-known to the templars. And, I really don’t want to go back to the Wardens; even if they’d have me. I don’t imagine you’d go back to Tevinter?”

“If you take away the magisters, Tevinter is beautiful. It’s filled with history, and art, and the climate is comfortable. Like this, only warmer. Seheron was uncommonly beautiful. That’s where I’d like to go, if I could.”

“That’s where you were first free, Seheron.”

“Yes.” 

Anders glanced at Fenris lying on his belly in the sun. He was healthy, his dark complexion deeply tanned, in stark contrast to the white of his hair, markings, and teeth. Teeth which Anders actually saw now, in smiles and laughter. 

“Why are you examining me, mage?”

“Just appreciating the view.” Fenris’ look was priceless. Anders laughed. “I’m noticing how you’ve changed since arriving.”

“And, how is that?”

“You look healthy. Relaxed.”

“As do you. You need more time out of the Undercity. You can’t go spotty in the sewers.”

Anders laughed. “My mother called them ‘sun kisses.’” 

Fenris snorted. “That’s a lot of kissing.”

“Well, the sun can hardly help itself; I’m running about all naked and enticing.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it in Kirkwall.”

He noticed Fenris roll his shoulders with a grimace.

“Sore?”

“Someone keeps shoving me off the path up here.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch. Want a shoulder rub as compensation?” 

“I will never say no to that.”

Anders knelt beside him, and began working the tension from his muscles.

“You’ve lost some of your sword-swinging muscle.”

“So I’ve noticed. I’ll start working with it when we’re back in Kirkwall.”

“Am I in the right spot?”

“Mmm.”

Anders continued along his neck and shoulders. His skin was smooth, the markings causing no discernible change in its texture. He massaged his way up the elf’s neck and into his hair to get at the base of the skull. 

“You have exceptional hands,” Fenris murmured.

“Thank you.” 

When Fenris told him of the Fog Warriors, it brought down the remaining walls between them. Until then, Anders had been unaware of just how deep a hold Danarius once had on him. Fenris had been molded into not only a living weapon, but also into a devout, servile pet. The magister had actually convinced Fenris his slavery was an act of love. _Love._ What a putrid, twisted use of the word. 

He was so pleased when Fenris described his realization that all Danarius had taught him was false. Yet, he couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to realize his entire life was a lie. The strength it had taken, to not only work through the pain of killing the Fog Warriors; but to build a life without ever having lived on his own... it was unimaginable.

“How much did you forget, when you received the lyrium?”

“Everything.”

“I mean... you still had language, right? And, you could dress and feed yourself?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“And, you still knew swordplay?”

“Yes. I still had battle skills. Anders, this is not a relaxing topic.”

“Sorry. I get curious.” 

Fenris snorted. “I’ve noticed.” 

He was still curious. If he’d had magic before losing his memory, why would he have trained in swordplay? He ran his fingers into the silky hair, smiling when Fenris groaned.

“Scratch, or rub?”

“Scratch, please.”

“As you wish.”

“Mmmm.”

“You’re about to start purring.”

“You wish for another cat to fuss over. What was it’s name? Ser Bounce Along?”

“Ser Pounce-a-lot. Pounce, to his friends. And yes, I would like another cat. But, Kirkwall seems to have a distinct shortage.”

“I’ve heard it said the Imperial Archon has a tame red lion.”

“He does _not._ You can barely kill a red lion, let alone catch one alive and tame it.”

“We’re talking about Tevinter mages, Anders. For all we know, they convinced a spirit to possess it and control it.”

“Andraste’s tits. The demon I met during my Harrowing took the shape of a giant cat. It was terrifying.”

“Which is why the Archon would want one for a pet.”

“Couldn’t he just get a nice tabby?” His fingers lightly trailed through Fenris’ hair, enjoying the feel of the silken strands as much as the elf seemed enjoy the massage.

“This makes my skin tingle.”

“Karl would get tingles from the strangest things. The sound of pages being turned, or a quill scratching on parchment. If I whispered in his ear just right, he’d get them all over his body. He loved it.”

“I enjoy this, but I doubt sounds would cause it.”

Anders leaned down, and whispered into the pointed ear. “I don’t know... how’s this? Does it give you tingles? Do you feel anything, yet? I’ll just whisper awhile, until--”

He was interrupted by Fenris furiously rubbing his ear. 

“It tickles. But it doesn’t tingle.”

Anders stopped scratching, and smoothed Fenris’ hair. 

“You hungry? I’m hungry.”

Fenris sat up, and pointed his chin north. “Good... because it looks like we have guests for dinner.”

Dinner turned out to be an entire side of ribs, fresh fruit, sourdough biscuits with butter and preserves, Orlesian sweet cakes, a half-dozen bottles of wine, and three good friends. Fenris was gazing greedily at everything. Their salt pork, dried fruit, and sugar had run out weeks ago, and he’d been forced to choke down fish, or go without meat. The feast Hawke brought had cheered both men, greatly.

“I thought we should celebrate your return,” Hawke grinned. 

“You couldn’t have picked a better way to do it,” Anders said, then called to the pirate. “Isabela! Keep those cakes away from Fenris. He sees them, none of us will get any.”

“How is he doing?”

“Magic-wise? Excellent. He’s safe wandering the streets, again.”

“You two are still getting on much better than I’d have expected.”

Isabela threw an arm around Anders’ shoulder. “You can say that, again. Notice the single bed?”

“Isabela...” Anders chided, “notice the lightning-split tree? Fenris’ cot was destroyed in the first storm.”

“Oh, well. It’s not nearly as fun to imagine when you throw reality into it.” 

“Look out... he’s spotted the preserves.”

Isabela turned, and in a flash had tweaked the jar from Fenris’ hands.

“I do not need babysitting, woman,” they heard him protest. Hawke and Anders laughed.

“We’ve been eating sparse for a few weeks. I’m just as hungry for real food as he is.”

“I know you’d like to get settled once we’re back at Kirkwall, but there’s a bit of an emergency. I’d really like you in on it.”

“What’s up?”

Hawke told a disturbing story about Feynriel, the elf-blooded mage living with the Dalish.

“A Dreamer? They’re supposed to be extinct. Sure, I’ll come.” He looked at Fenris, now leaning over Varric’s shoulder as the dwarf seasoned the ribs. “I’d like to take Fenris, too. This could be a good chance for him to meet the Fade.”

“Is he ready for that?”

“Ready as he’ll ever be. He’ll just go along for the ride, as part of the team.”

But until then, they had good food, a beautiful moonrise, and a last night to enjoy the cove.

The food had both men in rhapsodies. There was plenty of everything for everyone. Anders, knowing Fenris’ sweet tooth, ate only one sweet cake. The rest of his allotment found its way to the elf's plate. 

When Fenris noticed, he spoke to Anders in an undertone, “This is the light I see you in.” 

“You have a sugar addiction,” he replied. “I’m just calming the beast.”

“What are you two so secretive about, over there?” Isabela called.

“Wondering where Manly went,” Fenris diverted.

Isabela looked momentarily confused, then laughed. “Oh... _him._ I shook him off as soon as we pulled into port. Were you hoping to see more of him?”

“I saw more than I wanted to.”

“I tried to get Hawke to bring Sebastian with her, so he could join us swimming in his skivvies. Oh, Hawke... he’s easy on the eyes.”

Varric grunted. “Dull as dishwater.”

“He is not!” Hawke objected. “He has morals.”

“Hawke, I have morals. Choirboy’s got religion.”

“There’s nothing wrong with faith.”

“Nope. Got nothing against it.”

Isabela sighed. "Nothing wrong with his eyes, either. Or his voice. Or his ass."

“Rivaini, everyone has eyes, a voice, and an ass.”

“Not like those.”

“You’re both terrible,” Hawke said. 

“You know who’s terrible?” Varric asked. “The Arishok. _YOU SHOULD ALL BE GRATEFUL!_ If that wasn’t a loaded comment....”

“What should you be grateful for?” Fenris asked.

“That fixing our problems isn’t the demand of the Qun.”

“You _should_ be grateful,” Fenris said. “You don’t want him taking matters into his own hands.”

Hawke sighed. “I know. I don’t know what Dumar thinks I can do.”

“Oh, let’s talk about something fun!” Isabela said. “Fenris... have you learned that electricity trick, yet?”

“I told you....”

“Sure, he did,” Anders interrupted. “Show her what you did to your blade.”

Fenris smirked, and pulled his belt knife. There was a round of whistles as the group inspected the feathery pattern left on the metal by the lightning strike.

“No offense, Fenris, but you’re pretty bad at it.”

“It's not my best spell.” 

Anders stifled a snort. Fenris could deadpan better than anyone he’d ever met.

It was the middle of the night before their guests turned in. Lying in their cot, Anders listened for all movement in the tents to cease. Then he thumped Fenris on the shoulder.

“Come on,” he whispered, slipping out of bed.

“Where are we going?”

Anders held up a bottle of wine he’d kept back from the rest. 

“On the roof.”

Leaving their clothes at the waterline, they quietly made their way to the diving rock.

The moons were dark, only stars lighting the sky. They sat together and passed the bottle.

“Fenris... I’m going to miss you.”

“Are you not returning to Kirkwall?”

“Yes, but it won’t be the same.”

“That’s true. It won’t.”

“I’ll miss your elbows in my ribs each night.” 

Fenris snorted. “I’ll miss you harping at me to hang my towel.”

“I’ll miss the sound you make when you take your first sip of tea in the morning.”

“I’ll miss you snoring in my ear.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Yes, you do. Like the purring of those cats you adore.”

Anders hesitated, then confessed. “I’ll miss you reaching for me when your dreams go bad.”

Fenris didn’t hesitate at all. “I’ll miss you reaching back.”

Anders reached for his hand, and felt Fenris take it.

“Look at those stars,” Anders said. “There’s no stars in Darktown.”

“There’s stars in Hightown. You know where I live.”

“You like your privacy, Fenris. I’m not going to intrude on you.”

“You would not be intruding. I would like you to visit.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. For any reason, or none at all. If there are templar raids, or the winter turns cold, or you miss my elbows in your ribs.”

“You can always come to the clinic, you know.”

“I plan to.”

“Do you?”

“If you don’t come to me, I will come to you.”

Anders was touched. He’d started this exchange playfully, but he meant it... he would miss Fenris’ company.

“You’re a better friend than I deserve,” he said.

“Some might say we deserve each other.”

Anders chuckled, and finished the bottle. They lay back and watched the stars. 

“That’s Fulmenos,” Anders said, pointing to a constellation. “The lightning bolt.”

“No, that’s Fervenial.”

“Fervenial’s the oak tree. It looks like this.”

He flicked his fingers into the air, and small, blue points of light flew from them. He gestured with his fingers, and the lights formed a pattern; the constellation Fervenial.

“Impressive.”

“Thank you. Watch this....”

Blue wisps of energy coalesced into a band through the constellation he’d created, and more points of light appeared. As the entire display slowly rotated above the spire they lay upon, Fenris recognized it.

“That’s the night sky!”

Anders grinned. “There’s more....”

A dark cloud formed within the display, and miniature bolts of lightning shot from it.

“That’s amazing.”

“Thank you. We’d get bored in the Circle. You wouldn’t believe the displays a half-dozen mages working together could create. Visual, musical... it was really something.”

As he watched his magical artwork, white flakes began drifting down from the storm cloud. Several touched softly on his face. It was snow.

“Fenris! You’re doing that?” He asked in disbelief.

“Snow is easy. Your display is somewhat monochromatic, I think.”

The snowflakes dissipated as a wispy, lavender haze floated up and intertwined with the blue band Anders had created. Purple bolts shot through the stars like meteors.

Anders looked from the captivating display to the amused face of the elf. Fenris watched his magic-works, fingers waving gracefully as he controlled its movements. Anders was dumbfounded. 

Fenris was playing with his magic. The man who had once described his magic as a cancer. The man who’d nearly killed himself in grief over acting out with his power. The man who was now smiling as he wove their magic together, into art. 

The shield Anders put around his heart so long ago, crumbled and fell away; leaving him helpless against the unexpected ardor that filled him. 

Fenris turned to him. “Nice, is it not?”

Anders gazed at him, and swallowed, voice failing him. 

“Absolutely breathtaking,” he murmured. 

Fenris turned back to the magical display. Anders’ eyes never left his face. _I am lost._ His heart shuddered with long forgotten pangs. _I am undone._

And, it was the most exquisite, longing, ache he’d ever felt. 

The boat ride home was bittersweet. He and Fenris stood at stern, watching the cove disappear from sight. Fenris was again wearing his armor and blade. Anders was in his robes and boots, staff on his back. 

“I should have found something to take home with me; a bottle of sand, or piece of driftwood,” he said. Even more than that, he hoped beyond measure the friendship they shared would be returning with them. He cared for Fenris... more than he should. 

Fenris reached into the bag hanging from his shoulder, and pulled out the spiny shell. He held it up, Anders bursting into laughter. 

“That thing’s gotten further with me than any person.”

Fenris chuckled. “I’m keeping the shell. I’ve got something else I want you to have.”

He handed Anders a small pouch filled with sand. Buried protectively in the sand was a strange piece of rough glass. It was about the size of his thumb, cream colored, vaguely tubular, with a granular texture.

“What is this?”

“It’s lightning glass. It forms when lightning strikes the ground.”

“This is remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’d heard of them. I recognized what it was when I saw it.”

“Are you sure you want to give it away?”

“I kept it for you. Your electricity trick gave me life. This is nature’s electricity trick. It’s fitting you should have it.”

He wasn’t sure Fenris knew just how fitting. He’d had many an occasion to be thankful for his healing ability. But he’d never been more grateful than when he’d revived Fenris.

“It’s perfect.”

“I thought so, as well.”

Anders carefully rewrapped it, and put it in his hip satchel.

“Did Hawke tell you about Feynriel?”

“She did. She said you’d like me to go into the Fade with you.”

“You alright with that?”

“Not at all, but I’m willing. I suppose I can’t be choosy about Fade-walking opportunities.”

“This really is fortuitous. We’re going in to help the boy, but it couldn’t come at a better time.”

“What will I do, there?”

“I’m not sure what we’ll be facing. If there’s fighting, join in. Otherwise, I’d rather you stand back and observe the Fade.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Of that, Fenris, I have never doubted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... Anders tripped and fell.


	16. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has trouble in the Fade.
> 
> Anders has trouble with Justice.
> 
> Fenris feels kind of funny inside.

The Alienage wouldn’t have been his first choice to visit upon arrival in Kirkwall, but that’s where Hawke led them. 

The city was a crush of voices and activity, smells and dirt. Having grown used to the quiet of the cove, his senses struggled to adapt. He breathed a sigh of relief when they entered the home of Arianni, and the tumult was muffled.

He wasn’t thrilled to be going into the Fade, but Hawke needed help, and Anders wanted him to experience a waking visit into the spirit-realm. The rite required little of them, and suddenly, he stood in an eery reproduction of the Gallows.

He’d never actually been inside of the Circle, but there was no doubting the locale. He turned to his companions, and saw Anders speaking with Hawke. But it wasn’t Anders’ voice he heard. 

“I had not thought to return in such a way.”

It was the demon. Anders had been left behind, and the spirit possessing him had traveled with them. Fenris was not pleased with this turn of events.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Anders was to come with us on this mission.”

The face, by now so familiar, was shot through with blue, eyes glowing. It turned its gaze on him.

“The elf who sings. I am Justice... Anders has told you of me. We thought it best I make this journey.”

“I know what you are,” he spat. “Go back. Bring Anders. Or better yet, stay here and leave him free of you.”

“You believe you know best in this matter. You do not. Come... I sense Feynriel’s mind straining.”

It wasn’t long before they met a demon on its own ground. It made Hawke offers. She refused. It died. He was confident of this task. He was less confident of the spirit working with them.

The Spirit of Justice seemingly held no solidarity with the creatures they met, and fought with Hawke as Anders would. That did not necessarily prove its benevolence. 

Watching the demon wearing Anders’ face was bizarre. As he watched it, he realized the similarity ended in appearance. It moved stiffly, much as a soldier in armor. Overhearing it speak with Hawke, more than its voice differed from Anders’. It’s mannerism, and cadence, was almost formal. 

Fenris fell back beside it as they made their way through the dream-Gallows.

“Why do you not leave Anders? The joining has failed. He wishes to be himself, again.”

“Anders requires my aid.”

“You control him! You overcome him in moments of anger. You unduly influence him.”

“I provide him with control he lost while forgotten. We will stop such travesties ever befalling another mage.”

Fenris frowned. “While he was forgotten?”

“I soothe the wounds of his soul. I level his rise and fall, and hold the darkness at bay.”

Questions flooded his mind, but there was no time.

“Come,” the spirit said. “We near the end.”

The dream realm became a nightmare.

“With my aide, you would be free forever,” the pride demon told him. “You could have power enough to challenge any who would chain you.”

Fenris felt himself drawn to the picture it painted. Hawke spoke to him, trying to dissuade his interest. Yet... to face the magisters as an equal.... Fenris drew his blade.

He awoke in Arianni’s hut, gut churning, covered in sweat. 

_Not again._

He bolted for the door.

Hawke was the first to find him in his mansion. She accepted his fumbling apology, but shouldn’t have. He’d betrayed her. 

“Did...Anders’ demon succumb to its offers?”

“Are you trying to ask if Anders is alright?”

“I... perhaps. I’ve let him down. He will not wish to work with me any longer.” Nor possibly, be his friend. Fenris had betrayed him to the demon, as much as he betrayed Hawke.

“He’s worried sick about you. I wanted to talk to you first, or he’d already be here.”

“I can’t face him.”

A voice came from the door. “You bloody well _can,_ and you bloody well _will!”_

As Hawke took her leave, Fenris turned away. He heard Anders draw near.

“Are you alright?” 

How could he ask? Why would he care?

“No, I’m not alright. It was Seheron, all over again. At the first hint of an offer, I betrayed my friends.”

“Demons are tricky. They see your innermost desires. They know what you want to hear.”

“I never believed I could be so weak.”

“There’s a reason I wanted you on this mission, Fenris. You needed others around when this happened.”

“You _knew_ I would give in to the first offer a demon made?”

“Why do you think mages don’t go through their Harrowing until they’ve studied for a decade or more? It’s not easy to resist your deepest desire.”

Fenris finally turned, eyes downcast.

“I’m sorry. I failed you.”

Gentle fingers lifted his chin, amber eyes met his. “You didn’t fail me. And you didn’t fail yourself, either. You learned something. That’s all.”

Without thought, he reached out, and was welcomed in a warm embrace. Hands stroked along his back, soothing him. Anders’ voice was as gentle as his touch.

“Knowing your weakness is a strength, Fenris.”

He grumbled, seeing the truth of it.

“You met Justice.”

“I served it an eviction.”

Muted laughter rumbled against his chest. “Which he refused. He’s impressed with you.”

“It had a front row seat to my deal with a demon. That was impressive?”

More rumbling laughter... it was very pleasant. “He expected it, as well. What impressed him was your fervent, if misguided, defense of me. His resolve that we assist you has been reaffirmed.”

“Misguided?”

“From his point of view. Whatever you discussed, he believes you don’t see the entire picture.”

Fenris pulled away, looking at him. “You don’t know what we discussed?”

“He showed me most of the mission, but I wasn’t privy to all your conversation. I’d rather you not tell me, either. I sense he’d prefer it kept private.”

 _“Private?_ Between... myself and it?”

“Right.”

“It is... a very strange spirit.”

Anders’ eyebrows arched.

“Not a demon?”

“I... am not sure. It was not what I expected.”

Anders looked at him thoughtfully. “Not sure... that’s... more than I’d ever expected.”

It was more than Fenris had expected, as well. Anders continued. 

“He’s pretty uptight, huh? Little stiff? Self-righteous?”

“It was... adamant.”

“How diplomatic of you.” 

Fenris frowned. “It’s given me food for thought.”

“He tends to do that.” 

“Why does it say I sing?”

Anders laughed. “It’s your markings. He once had a lyrium ring he said sang. When you activate the markings while we’re in contact, he sort of swoons to the music.”

“Do you hear it, as well?”

“Not as intensely as he does.”

“Will the boy be alright?”

“Feynriel? I think so. He’s on his way to _something,_ at least.”

Fenris nodded. Hopefully, something good.

In the weeks following, he was distracted by his conversation with the spirit. Fenris had seen many demons and abominations, Fade spirits captured and used for amusement. This creature was unlike any of those. And, although it was difficult to tell with demons, he’d discerned no dissembling. This Spirit of Justice appeared genuinely devoted to Anders and his cause.

What most occupied his mind, were the spirit’s comments regarding Anders’ soul. Initially, Fenris thought _the travesty that injured his soul_ referred to their joining. Yet, considering what else had been said, he came to another conclusion. _While forgotten_ had to mean Anders’ year in solitary confinement. 

Fenris remembered Anders’ nightmares in the cave. He also remembered the haunting tale of his time in solitary, and his troubles following his release. The darkness continuing to overwhelm him, his mind re-entering the cell. There’d been a threat of Tranquility, due to erratic behavior, and unstable moods. 

The spirit claimed to sooth Anders’ wounded soul, and level the rise and fall, keeping the darkness at bay. Was it ameliorating the trauma done to his mind while locked away? Fenris couldn’t imagine any demon doing such a thing. A demon would feed on the negative emotions of its victim, not heal them. What then, _was_ this creature? And why would it keep their Fade conversation private? 

Fenris watched Anders as he went about his business; talking, working, teaching. Did he know of the assistance the spirit gave? Would he be able to do all he did, if it didn’t level his rise and fall? He must have managed well enough in the Grey Wardens. He’d served with them nearly a year before joining with the spirit. 

After weeks of fussing over these questions, Fenris finally let it go. Because ultimately, it didn’t change a thing. Anders was certainly a complicated man, but more important, he was his friend. A friend of deep loyalty, compassion, and wit. Whatever his underlying scars, however diverse his difficulties, Anders was still simply _Anders._

Returning to Kirkwall had shown him how close they’d become. Although Fenris reveled the return to his soft mattress and his mansion; he realized he enjoyed sharing both with Anders. He looked forward to his company, whether or not they said a word all evening. He also slept better with him on the other side of the bed. Those nights Anders wasn’t with him, he often woke himself, searching for a hand or wrist to grasp in his sleep. 

As it was, Anders came to the mansion most evenings. Unless a card game was scheduled at the Hanged Man, in which case they met at the tavern. He regaled Fenris with tales of his patients, and Darktown happenings. Fenris spoke of Hightown intrigue, slavers he took down, and reading lessons with Hawke.

“It's still hard to imagine you couldn't read. You’re so smart, and so well-spoken. You speak three languages!”

“It didn’t serve Danarius’ needs for me to read, so I was never taught.”

“That you know of. You may have forgotten.”

“I... suppose. But I’m learning, now,” he said proudly. He enjoyed learning. Reading, writing, even--if he were honest--magic. 

He’d surprised himself when he’d joined Anders in creating a magical display, simply for the beauty of it. Anders didn’t often perform gratuitous magic. He didn’t treat his powers like a toy, which Fenris respected. In fact, the impromptu show their last night at the cove had begun as a teaching tool. The map of the constellation had grown from there, the mage indulging in a whim. A whim Fenris had been caught in. And... he’d enjoyed it. Using magic for beauty was somehow redeeming of its darker applications. 

Although they hadn’t created any further works of art, they continued to work on his magical control. The third floor of the mansion contained a ballroom, with plenty of space for work. Once the window coverings were supplanted, it served well for their purpose. And, their purpose had changed.

Accepting the demon’s offer in the Fade had been humiliating. But it made Fenris realize how badly he hungered to defeat Danarius. Hawke had promised her aid, yet he could be set upon at any time, with no help at hand. For all his battle prowess, he would be helpless against Danarius’ powers. 

Fenris had remembered something Anders said: with magic, Fenris would be a force to reckon with. He’d also postulated Danarius suppressed his magic because Fenris was more powerful than he.

And thinking of this, Fenris realized he needed no demon’s aid to remain forever free. He himself, had power enough to challenge any who would seek to chain him. 

It had been a frightening realization. Power was what all magisters sought. Once he defeated Danarius, would he be able to stop seeking it? Would he hunger for more? Anders thought not. 

“Are you seriously considering this, Fenris? Using your magic for battle? For offense, defense, and everything in-between?”

“I am. You said I would be strong enough to defeat Danarius.”

“You could squash him like a bug.”

“I want that, Anders. I want it more than anything. It could mean my freedom. It could mean my life.”

“I get that. And, I wholeheartedly support it.”

“But, what if I don’t stop there? Do you remember what I did on the beach? What if I--”

“Fenris... I know you. You won’t become a power-hungry magister-wanna-be. All you did was give me a stinging shot in the eye, and you _still_ haven’t gotten over it. It’s not in your nature to needlessly hurt people. The memory of Seheron will keep you grounded, my friend. “

“Can you teach me what I need to know?”

Anders had grinned hugely. “I can. We still need someone to continue your force magic training, but I can give you plenty of battle instruction.”

““Who will train me in force magic?”

“I have no bloody idea. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. You still have plenty to work on, in the meantime. If you’re sure this is what you want to do?”

“I am sure.” He looked down at his markings. “Danarius inflicted these upon me to create his own living weapon. Let us show him what that weapon can do.”

Anders took both hands in his.

“Fenris. You're not a weapon. You're a man. A good man, with a good heart.”

“Am I? I intend to use my magic to kill.”

Anders shrugged. “You use your sword to kill. This is no different. You’re not using blood magic, nor hurting innocents. We’re assuring your Maker-given gift will protect you from those who bring harm.”

“And you say _I’m_ well-spoken.” In spite of his initial reservations, he now felt confident of his decision. 

So Anders altered their training. Speed of spell casting became a new goal. Clearing his mind between spells, to start the next one cleanly. How to apply combinations of spells. Where to aim certain attacks for best effect. The cobwebs and dust were cleared from the ballroom as ice, bolts, fire and lightning filled the space. 

Crates and furnishings were used as targets and barriers, splinters and stuffing littered the room. They had to take care too much noise was avoided, lest it draw outside attention. But as weeks passed, Fenris gained proficiency in magical attack and defense.

His average day was much less encumbered than Anders’. He didn’t know how the mage had the energy to do all he did; healing, writing letters, meeting with the mage underground, training Fenris, going on jobs with Hawke. He recalled him saying the spirit supplanted his energy while they were sleep deprived; likely, it did so on a regular basis. 

He accompanied him during some of his activities, ostensibly to keep an eye out for templars. Really, he simply missed Anders. For half a year, Anders had been the larger part of his world; and now he was absent more than not.

“What is it you do, here?” he’d asked, looking around the brothel. It was a slow time of the day, but there were still plenty of customers.

“I examine the workers, dispense treatments, answer questions, and the like. I haven’t been here for quite awhile. I’m sure there’ll be a lot of healing to do.”

“You do this for free, as well?”

“No. I probably would, but I’m not turning down the income if Lucine’s offering it.”

In some ways, the brothel made Fenris uncomfortable. He certainly had no prejudice against the sale of sex. The employees worked of their own free will, supplied a demand, and were paid for their service. There was nothing unseemly in lawfully earning a living. But the type of service provided at the Rose stirred thorny memories.

Fenris had been Danarius’ favored slave, in more ways than one. His duties often included serving his master’s sexual needs. Sometimes painful, typically quick, it was simply another duty to perform. And it was not a duty limited to his master. 

Shortly after Fenris’ presentation as the Lyrium Ghost, Danarius became aware of interest from some of his contemporaries. There were those who were drawn to Fenris’ exotic appearance, and hinted broadly at exploring the markings on an intimate level.  
While loaning a slave to a friend or visitor was on a par with granting access to the estate’s library; Fenris was no ordinary slave. Danarius was quick to recognize the potential. He already had an excess of wealth, but power and influence were priceless. And certain people would trade in both, for a unique opportunity. A night’s pleasure with Danarius’ exotic, lyrium creation was certainly that.

A trainer from the most prestigious pleasure house in Minrathous was contracted to tutor Fenris. While he didn’t receive the intensive instruction of a true pleasure slave, he was given enough training to become adept in sexual performance. Those to whom he was given were offering Danarius valuable commodities, after all. 

Fenris applied himself to learning the many ways of bringing a master or mistress pleasure. He was taught general preferences, as well as a selection of fetishes. Most of his participation wasn’t difficult. He was accustomed to arduous activity, and well-acquainted with pain. 

The most challenging aspect of his training was becoming physically aroused on demand. Many masters liked to believe the slave in their bed enjoyed their attentions. On a more practical note, others wished to be penetrated. To this end, Fenris was taught how to feel pleasure in such couplings. At the time, he’d not given it much thought. Later, the memory of his response would disgust him.

Anders spoke with Lucine, and was shown to an empty room. Fenris waited outside the door, watching the activity in the lounge. The flirtatious elf, Jethann, seemed popular. He averaged a client every hour. In contrast, Fenris had been given to others only three or four times a year. And only to those equal to Danarius; dignitaries, Chantry officials, dwarven Ambassadoria, as well as high-ranked magisters. 

Anders’ voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Sorry it took so long. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I won’t say no.”

As they stood at the bar, a man appeared beside Anders, sliding an arm around his waist. 

“Hello, beautiful. You must be new.”

In a heartbeat, the offending arm was twisted behind the man’s back, and his face slammed into the bar. Fenris pinned him there, furious at his audacity.

“Pig,” he hissed. “You aren’t worthy to lick his boots.”

“No need to get violent. I didn’t know you’d already claimed him.”

Fenris yanked his head back by the hair. “If you so much as look at him, I’ll pluck out your eyes.” He let the man loose, who made for the door at a run, not looking back.

“Wow.”

Anders’ face was filled with shock and wonder.

“I....” He didn’t know what to say. 

“What... was... that?”

“I did not like him touching you.”

“Apparently.”

“You have said you don’t like to be propositioned.”

“I don’t.” Anders was still looking at him with amused surprise.

Fenris picked up his drink, feeling Anders’ gaze on him. 

“Just drink your ale, mage.”

“Poor guy. He’ll never approach anyone, again. His dick’ll go soft just thinking about it.”

Fenris cut his eyes at him. Anders winked, still laughing. For Fenris, though, it hadn’t been amusing. The pig was right. Anders _was_ beautiful. But as comely as his face and form, it wasn’t his appearance Fenris saw.

His true beauty lay within; his heart, soul, pains, and hopes. That was what Fenris would not see besmirched. The would-be patron--indeed, any who looked on him with desire--had no appreciation for the whole of Anders; his entirety that outshone all others. And, it was that beauty which stirred something inside Fenris.

He didn’t know when it had happened, or even when he’d become aware of it... but when Fenris looked at Anders, his heart pounded. The sound of his laughter or touch of his hand made him grow warm. This feeling eclipsed the tepid pleasure he’d been compelled to feel in servitude. This was something else altogether, and it confused both his body and mind. For the first time in his life, Fenris felt the heat of true, raw, desire. 

And, he had no idea what to do about it.

\------------------------------------

He ran through the tunnels, surprised by the speed at which Anders traveled. He’d been only a moment behind him, and had yet to catch-up. It crossed his mind a Grey Warden would know how to move at speed through tunnels.

He made his way out of the secret entrance, and to the clinic. As he’d suspected, Anders was inside. He crouched over a trunk, tossing items alternately to the floor, and into his travel pack. 

“Trash... trash... trash... keep... trash....” 

“Anders.”

“Get away from me, Fenris. You don’t know what I might do. What Justice might do.”

Fenris pulled him to stand.

“Come, Anders. We will discuss this.”

“What is there to discuss?” Even with his protestations, he let Fenris lead him to a cot to sit. “I _am_ a monster. Everything we ever do will be stained by this. If you weren’t there, I’d have killed that girl.”

Fenris wasn’t sure that was true. If he hadn’t been there, very likely Hawke would have talked him down. But he could see Anders wasn’t thinking logically. 

“Even so, you heard what I was saying.”

“You have too much faith in me. Without you, I’d have never known who was there. How can I fight for the freedom of mages, when I’m the example of the worst that freedom brings?”

“You are not the worst freedom brings. We’ve discussed this, many times. Danarius, Hadriana, Quentin... _they_ are the worst freedom brings.”

“How can I even trust myself to heal, anymore? What if that... _creature of vengeance_ turns on a patient? Will he... will I... resist? Or, will I loose his fury?”

These were all concerns with which Fenris would have agreed, not long ago. Yet, having lived with Anders--having met the spirit--he thought he had better understanding. And he would not allow Anders to berate himself for this. 

“Anders... listen to me. I heard the foul words Alrik spoke. Do you think _my_ blood didn’t also boil? This was the man who branded Karl. This was a man of evil intention. The spirit you carry feels your emotions. I’m not surprised it broke through.”

“He turned on the girl I was trying to save, after Alrik was already dead!”

“Yes it did. I don’t refute that.”

“Then, what’s your point?”

Fenris considered his next words. 

“You harbor of a creature of intelligence, who is viewing the world through alien eyes. The girl attacked you, and--”

“She did _not_ attack me!”

“Naught but a verbal attack, it’s true. Yet she called you a demon, causing the spirit to misconstrue her intent. And, it responded the only way it knows how.”

“Are you actually defending him to me?”

“I am defending _you_ to you, Anders. Look at the circumstances. There is no reason to think the spirit would attack a patient. Not unless they attacked you, first. And it would have to be a formidable attack, at that.”

Anders hung his head, thinking to himself. After several moments of quiet, Fenris put a hand on his back.

“Here’s Hawke.”

And with her, came the knowledge that Alrik’s Tranquil Solution had been rejected by both the Divine and Meredith. It had started, and stopped, with Alrik. Fenris was as pleased to hear this as Anders. 

“This is not what I expected!” Anders was visibly heartened. “Perhaps I should try talking to the Grand Cleric. Maybe she’s more reasonable than I thought.”

Fenris nodded, remembering when he’d considered Anders unreasonable. How far they had come. How much had changed. 

Hawke took her leave, and Fenris crouched to help Anders unpack, again. 

“Fenris.”

“Anders.”

“Thank you. I never expected you to see Justice so objectively. Things you said, I’ve never considered. For all I put a noble face on the spirit I harbor, he scares me, sometimes. I know joining with him was a mistake.” 

He hesitated before replying. He sensed Anders was at a crossroad in his relationship with the spirit. If they shared one another’s anger, did they not share other emotions, as well? How would the spirit be affected by Anders’ fear or rejection of it? It would essentially be fear and rejection of himself. And Fenris couldn’t allow the beauty within him to be tarnished by self-recrimination.

“I understand. But you _must not_ reject it. Division will weaken you, and destroy any hope of maintaining control. ”

“We _can’t_ be divided, Fenris. He’s in me. We are one.”

“Not entirely. In the Fade, it spoke of you as an individual, not as an aspect of itself. If it can separate enough to take control when angry, or enter the Fade without you; then you both must retain some self-identity.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“Anders, you’ve encouraged me to accept all that I am, including my magic. I counsel you to do the same... including the spirit.”

“Who _are_ you, and what have you done with Fenris?”

“I’m serious, Anders. Whatever it is--spirit or demon--it’s sentient, and feels your emotions. Perhaps your attitude is reflected in its own.”

“You’re saying I should embrace the demon within?”

“Considering its reaction when the girl called it a demon... I’d avoid that term.”

Anders reached out, running his fingers into Fenris’ hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for head injuries.”

Fenris slapped his hands away, grumbling, “What has come to pass, that I should understand that spirit better than you?”

Anders laughed, pulling him into his arms. Fenris half-heartedly resisted, then gave in. He would hold this man through any storm, even one of his own making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solitary confinement is torture. Torture is trauma. Significant trauma has been known to trigger new or underlying mental illness. As strong as Anders is, he didn't escape that cell unscathed. 
> 
> It's my belief Act 2, particularly the Dissent quest, occurs when Anders is at a crossroad in his mental state. It's here where Hawke's responses in the game set the tone for the rest of the play-out. Many fans believe it's also the point where Anders and Fenris cross in their psychological journeys; Fenris on his way to finding himself, Anders on his way to losing himself. I think it's the point where Anders and Justice can be most affected, and their relationship most transformed.


	17. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris catches a glimpse of what Anders is fighting for.
> 
> Anders is surprised by Fenris' behavior.

The year 9:35 Dragon had begun in tumult. 

The Qunari Uprising had seen Viscount Dumar dead, and martial law declared by Knight Commander Meredith. Although Hawke had been named the Champion of Kirkwall, Meredith would not allow a new viscount appointment. The city struggled to regain normalcy in the wake of such unprecedented events.

Anders had worries beyond the city’s stability. Meredith had never been cowed by Dumar, but as the default ruler, there was now no one to offset her. Grand Cleric Elthina might be able, but too often chose not to. With the Knight Commander unopposed, he feared more greatly for the Circle. 

By the time spring and Bloomingtide arrived, relative calm had been achieved. The city mourned those lost in the Uprising. Repairs were underway, and a sort of normalcy was established. As a result, Summerday celebrations amplified as people put the past behind, and looked ahead.

The procession of boys and girls coming of age turned into a huge parade. Taverns overflowed into the streets, with musicians on every corner, turning the city into a giant circus of music, drinking, and dancing.

Hawke was absent from her companions most of the day. As the city’s new Champion, her presence was required elsewhere, and she preferred to celebrate holidays in the Chantry. The rest of the crew descended on the Hanged Man, and Varric’s suite. 

Anders came through the tavern door, and was immediately swept into the dancing, singing throng. A woman had him around the waist, and danced him into the middle of the floor. He was swung into the arms of a huge sailor, who tossed him to two young women; each of whom took a hand and led him in a jig.

He went with the flow, laughing and dancing his way through the crowd until he found himself at the base of the stairway. The rest of Hawke’s merry band stood at the top, laughing and cheering his performance. With their help, he navigated the crush of partygoers, and fell through the door of Varric’s room.

“Maker’s hairy ass!” he exclaimed. “It’s a madhouse!”

Fenris guided him to the table where a drink awaited him.

“Bless you,” he said, taking a swallow.

“How are things in Darktown?” Fenris asked.

“Quiet. Everyone’s gone above for the celebration. I’ll be busy treating hangovers, tomorrow.”

“You’ve never mentioned you’re such a skilled dancer.”

Anders nearly choked on his drink. 

“That wasn’t dancing. That was survival. You should see me really dance. I’ve got some moves.”

“Show me.”

“Sure. Next time we’ve got legroom. You know any dances?”

Varric snorted. “Haven’t you heard, Blondie? He goes from room to room in his mansion, choreographing routines.”

He turned to the elf with jaw dropped. 

“You do _not_.”

“That _you’ve_ seen,” Fenris smirked.

“Yeah? When I show you my moves, you can show me yours.”

Isabela laughed. “Now, that sounds promising.”

“Rivaini, I’m sure your latest suitor is ready and willing to trade moves with you.”

 _“Ugh._ Do you know what he did today?” she asked in disgust. “Sent me _candy!”_

“The nerve.”

Fenris brightened. “Did you bring any?”

Isabela tossed a small package at the elf. He opened it to find a variety of brightly colored taffy pieces. Anders grinned indulgently as he started in on it. That Fenris had such a sweet tooth was somehow utterly endearing.

“Yesterday, it was flowers; last week, poetry; the week before, he invited me to share a meal. I swear, he’s _this_ close to getting shanked.”

Varric shook his head. “His improprieties know no bounds.”

Anders laughed. “You object to candy, flowers, and poetry?”

“Only in this context,” Isabela said. “A tumble is one thing, but courtship? _Ugh.”_

“He is courting you, then?” Fenris asked. “Is this how it normally proceeds?”

She grimaced. “By my reckoning, it’s how it ends.”

Varric snorted. “It all depends, Broody. Some courtship is a matter of business; contracts, merged assets, family connections. Some is a matter of romance; flowers, candy, and poetry. Dwarves and nobles tend toward the first. The common man, the second. Too bad you weren’t here for Aveline’s courtship of Donnic. Now, _that_ was ugh-worthy.”

“Maybe I’ll send this deviant her way,” Isabela grumbled. “I’ll bet the Big Girl likes this sort of torture.”

“Maybe send him Broody’s way... he appreciates the candy, at any rate.”

“He can keep the flowers,” Fenris said around his mouthful. 

Anders chuckled. He remembered Karl leaving him poems and drawings under his pillow. 

“What’s funny?” Varric asked.

“Just memories. Karl once cast a sigil on my bunk. When I pulled back the covers, tiny lights formed a field of flowers on my bed. It was very sweet.”

The dwarf nodded. “Now, that’s class.”

“That was Karl, through and through.”

As the card game commenced, he thought Fenris seemed distracted. He was often lost in thought, of late. And he would know, as he spent most of his free time in Fenris’ company. Whether they worked on magic, or shared a meal, or sat quietly before the hearth, being with Fenris soothed him. He thought perhaps it did the same for the elf.

His frequent visits revealed some facts of Fenris’ life he’d never known. Such as, Hawke was keeping him from wallowing in his own filth. Oh, he used the dwarven plumbing in his mansion to bathe, but he had domestic help for other matters. Orana arrived every couple weeks, to change his bedding and do his laundry. Fenris grumbled, but allowed the girl to go about her business. Anders asked Hawke about it.

“Well, you know he’s not one for cleaning. To avoid it, he was throwing out his dirty sheets and dishes, and buying new ones. Do you know he’s got over a dozen sets of the same leggings and tunics?”

Anders had laughed. “I’m just surprised he lets her in to clean, at all.”

“I told him it was for her... that I didn’t have enough work for she, Bodahn, and Sandal at the estate, and she felt she wasn’t earning her pay. He grudgingly agreed.”

He often slept on those clean sheets, during his visits. After the summer spent sleeping under the open sky, Anders’ tiny closet of a bedroom was simply too small. Even with an entire wall open to the view of the harbor, with wind and light coming through, it spurred nightmares of his confinement. Fenris’ big, comfortable bed was in a large room, with a vaulted ceiling and view of the stars through the skylight. 

Fenris’ bed also contained _Fenris,_ who did far more to ease his sleep than the bed, itself. On the odd occasion bad dreams followed him, he was gently awakened by a soothing voice; reminding him he wasn’t alone, that he was free. Judging by how often he found his wrist circled by the sleeping elf’s fingers, he returned the favor, as well. 

It wasn’t just in his sleep Fenris soothed him, either. In the wake of their battle with Alrik and his men, Fenris had eased his fears, and shed unexpected light on the connection between he and Justice. He didn’t know what had passed between them in the Fade, but the elf’s attitude had altered perceptibly. While he still didn’t use the spirit's name, Justice was no longer a demon. It didn’t mean Fenris necessarily trusted Justice, but he seemed to accept he was part of Anders. In fact, he’d encouraged Anders to bloody well foster their bond.

It was six months since he’d looked at Fenris in the starlight and felt ardor consume his heart... and it hadn’t faded. Often, in the company of the elf, his belly seemed to house dozens of butterflies, all madly flapping their wings. Too long in physical contact made heat run the length of him. Alone in his cot, thoughts of the elf compelled him to take himself in hand, and find fast, furious completion. He doubted he would ever have a chance to explore this desire with Fenris. He wouldn’t risk the friendship they shared for something he'd already accepted he’d never again have. 

“You’re staring again, mage.”

“Broody, I got news for you; you’re _both_ mages.”

“Varric, here’s some news for you....” Fenris said, laying down a winning hand. While the other players groaned, Isabela gathered and shuffled the cards.

“I’m not staring... just thinking,” Anders said.

“Come by the mansion, later. I have a surprise for you.”

“Really? A surprise? For me?”

Fenris was making remarkable progress with his magic. That he’d decided to learn more than control, was astonishing. His reasoning, perfectly sound. Anders had no qualms teaching him to fight with magic; he could be trusted in his use of it. He had a well-honed instinct for battle. He was a bit slow, but it was just a matter of gaining experience.

Anders had little luck finding someone to work with Fenris on force magic. With Meredith gaining ever more power in the city; local apostates were lying low, or moving out. The few force mages he’d been able to approach counseled caution. Early attempts with large-area force magic could be highly destructive. Even from an enclosed house, the noise and impact would be noticeable. 

Past midnight, they bade their companions goodnight, and wound their way through the street-parties. Both men knew shortcuts and hidden travel-ways from years spent keeping a low profile. Hightown was calmer than Lowtown, denizens choosing to celebrate in their homes. Light spilled from open veranda doors, parlor music floating above the sound of laughter and refined merriment.

Slipping through the back door, the men entered the relative quiet the mansion.

“Drink?” Fenris asked.

“If you’ve got cider.”

“Let’s take it to the ballroom. You owe me a dance demonstration.”

“I owe you a dance _lesson._ Not with that armor, though... lose the spikes.”

Anders chose an easy waltz from his youth. Fenris quickly picked-up the steps. With music from a neighbor’s party drifting through the walls, they maneuvered around obstacles on the dance floor.

“What is this dance?” he asked. “It’s very simple.”

“It’s an easy one, for sons to dance with their mothers.”

“Did you dance it with your mother?”

“I did. Every Satinalia.”

“It’s too easy. Give me a challenge.”

Anders laughed. “You asked for it. What are you interested in? Waltz? Jig? Reel?”

“Do you actually know so many?”

“A few. My village held dances on some of the holidays.”

“Teach me another waltz.”

“Alright, watch my feet....”

Soon he was leading them around the ballroom, stepping forward, stepping back, drawing close, then pushing away, circling, holding, almost letting go. 

Fenris was graceful, fluid, and confident. Once he had the steps committed to memory, he held his head high, meeting Anders’ gaze with a quirky grin.

“I like this much better,” he said, easily matching Anders’ steps.

“Now you can really dance from room to room.”

“So long as you’re here to partner me.”

“Any time.”

They glided around the room, moving together in complete rapport.

“What is this dance called?”

“The _Liebestanz.”_

“It is from the Anderfels?”

“It is.

“What’s the translation?”

He cleared his throat. _“The Love Dance.”_

Holding Fenris, moving with him... it was heady. Especially in this dance, which had certain implications in his village. Anders tried not to stare, but Fenris made no such effort. His gaze was unflinching and compelling. 

“I like the rhythm,” Fenris said. “I like the way we move, together.”

 _So do I,_ Anders thought. “It’s a courtship dance. But, you wanted something challenging, so....”

Fenris’ gaze remained on his. “It was a good choice.”

“Right. Well, it sounds like we’re coming to the end... turn away... and now inside... and fall back.... now... embrace.”

The final position was a partial dip, a close embrace, an invitation to kiss. They held the pose for several beats, gazes locked... then slowly straightened, and parted. Anders found his cider and quaffed it. Maker, he was a fool.

He affected a casual tone. “So... you said you had a surprise?” 

Fenris was peering at him over his own mug. His face brightened at the question.

“I do. Come up to the attic.”

“It’s not full of corpses, is it?”

“Just bats.”

“Oh... much better.”

The attic ran the length and breadth of the mansion. It was empty save for cobwebs and dust. 

“Where’s the promised bats?”

Fenris smirked at him. “It’s the middle of the night, Anders. They’re hunting.”

“Oh... right. I gotta say, though; as far as surprises go, this is pretty bad.”

“Not this, fool. Over here.”

A short stairway led to a turret, in which was a door. The door opened onto the uppermost area of the roof. It was flat, about 20-feet wide and long, the roof sloping down from its edges. 

“What in the world?” 

They walked to the edge of the flat area, and gazed over the city below. The roof was of a height with most of Hightown, but Lowtown’s lights could be seen in the distance. The breeze was fresh, carrying the scent of the sea. 

“I discovered the door a few days ago. The view reminds me of the diving rock in the cove.”

“It’s wonderful,” he said. 

Fenris led him back to the turret, and pulled a pile of rugs and cushions from inside the door.

“The roof tiles are too jagged for comfort,” he explained. 

They lay on a bed of cushions, on the roof of Fenris’ mansion, gazing into the sky. There weren’t as many stars visible as from the cove, but it was still lovely. It wasn’t hard to imagine himself back on their cot on the beach, or atop the stone pillar above the water. He sighed in contentment.

“Fenris... this is the best surprise, ever.”

“Good. I’d hoped you would like it.”

“I love it.”

“You were right about dancing,” Fenris said. “You do have some moves.”

He glanced at the elf, who was looking at the stars, wearing a pleased expression.

“You were pretty good, yourself.” 

“Thank you.”

“Maybe I’ll teach you Anders’ Spicy Shimmy.”

Fenris looked at him with a smirk. “Sounds dangerous.”

The next morning, he was awakened by birdsong; the sporadic notes of early dawn. 

Peering from one cracked eyelid, he was greeted by the sight of a rumpled, sleeping elf. They’d fallen asleep on their rooftop bed. The sky was just beginning to lighten, the spring air chilly. 

He watched Fenris sleep, warmth overflowing his heart. Dancing the _Liebestanz_ had nearly been his undoing. It was a dance couples often used to announce they were serious about one another. Anders had danced it with his mother, as she taught him the steps. But he’d certainly never danced it with a true partner. Gazing at Fenris as they’d moved through the dance had been equal parts pain and pleasure. Carefully, he brushed aside the white fringe of hair fallen across his eyes. Fenris stirred, shivering with cold.

Unfastening his robe, Anders carefully slid forward. Drawn to the warmth, Fenris pressed against him, snuggling his arms under the heavy robe. Anders enfolded the sleeping elf, and sighed. These brief moments, when they held one another for any reason, were the ones he treasured most.

As the sun rose and city awakened, Fenris woke with it. Anders felt a yawn against his chest, followed by a tightened embrace. 

“S’cold,” Fenris mumbled.

“We’re still on the roof.”

“S’cold,” he repeated.

Anders chuckled, trying to tug his robe further over the elf’s body. “Maybe we should bring a blanket out here.”

“Mm-hm. Scratch my head.”

With a smile, he complied. “You’re bossy.”

“S’cold,” he replied, as though in explanation.

“So I’ve heard. You need hangover-healing?”

“No.”

“I thought it might explain your petulance.”

“M’hungry.”

“Well, there’s the crux of the problem. Let’s get some breakfast.”

As he moved to rise, he was held in place by strong arms.

“S’cold.”

Anders didn’t argue. Holding Fenris like this... it was sweet torture. He felt himself warm with more than their combined heat. It felt so good, and it hurt so bad, and he never wanted it to end.

\-----------------------------

“Will you come with me, Fenris?”

“Are you sure this mission is wise?”

“There are times compassion takes precedence over wisdom.”

Fenris frowned, thinking it through. Anders was going, regardless. A young woman in the Circle was in a heartbreaking situation, and he had to get her out, now. He’d been contacted through the Underground, and was part of a series of steps that would see her to safety.

She was a Harrowed mage by the name of Maira. She and an enchanter in the Circle had been lovers for several years. Although her family was wealthy, and could have bribed her transfer to another Circle when the Gallows began to decline, she’d refused leave her lover. They’d managed to maintain a low profile until, despite their precautions, she became pregnant. 

Although sexual liaisons in the Circles weren’t expressly forbidden, this wasn’t just any Circle. This was the Kirkwall Gallows, and Meredith was growing ever more strict. After Maira’s pregnancy was discovered, an investigation was launched to learn the identity of the father. When a note between the two was found by templars, he was immediately subjected to the Rite of Tranquility, as a warning to the entire Circle. 

In an uncharacteristic show of charity, the Knight Commander did not have Maira put to the brand; even Meredith wouldn’t risk harming the baby. Instead, they would wait until she’d given birth; at which time the babe would go to the Chantry, and Maira would join her former lover in Tranquility. 

Maira’s parents were notified of the situation through the Underground. And for once, the hypocrisy of the Circle system played in a mage’s favor. Using no small amount of wealth and influence, arrangements were made to smuggle Maira out of the Circle. She would be taken to an undisclosed location to give birth. After which, she would be taken to the Ostwick Circle, and admitted under “unique circumstances.” Her baby would be raised by her parents. Because of their promised donations to both the Ostwick Circle and Chantry, her parents would be allowed to visit their daughter in the Circle; bringing their “youngest child” with them, of course. 

It was an ambitious plan, and had taken time to arrange. Maira spent the past three months mourning her lover, awaiting word the plan was in motion. Now, it was time to move. Each participant knew very little of the others. Anders would meet Maira after she’d been smuggled from the Gallows, and take her through the tunnels to the Docks. From there, another party would sail her out of Kirkwall. At which point, yet another party would take her to the location in which she’d remain until she’d birthed; and so on.

“How near is she to whelping?”

“Fenris, she’s not a dog. She’s in her last month. It’s a dangerous time to do this, but there’s no other option.”

“I’m surprised she wishes to go to another Circle, once freed.”

“She prefers the option of living in Ostwick to being on the run. She can at least have some kind of relationship with her parents and child.” 

Fenris grunted. “Yes. I will help. If only to assure your spirit is managed.”

The escape itself went better than expected, especially considering Maira’s advanced pregnancy. She couldn’t move at more than a trot, but she was running for her life, and didn’t complain. Those who brought her from the Circle said no templars had followed; and Anders and Fenris took Maira into their charge for the journey to the ship.

Anders knew the tunnels well, and Fenris had been in them a time or two. But even if templars were not in pursuit, they were travelled by more than escaping mages. The coterie used them as well, and were not the type to ask questions.

Maira had little battle training, and Anders was shouting instructions for her to do nothing more than shield herself. He stayed near her, fending off attackers to both of them, backing-up Fenris as much as he could. Unfortunately, the elf seemed a likelier target than two mages, and their assailants focused on the warrior. Even with his lyrium capabilities, he was quickly cornered. 

It was while in the overwhelming press of enemy Fenris reached for the power within. 

Anders saw him spin, casting a cone of ice; following it with a whirling blow from his blade that shattered the frozen attackers. A mind blast sent those who remained staggering back, only to be assailed by a volley of arcane bolts. Leaping into the muddled fray, his blade dispatched the confused assailants. The few who’d avoided this series of attacks were summarily dispatched by he and Anders’ combined efforts.

Anders was astonished. Not only for the skill Fenris had shown in battle magic, but for the manner in which it had been performed. It had been smooth, as though choreographed. A seamless melding of martial and magical force Anders had seen only once before. And in those actions, so much that had been hidden, was suddenly revealed. But those thoughts would have to wait. He turned to check on Maira.

“I’m fine... I don’t believe what I saw. Your friend is a mage!”

“He is. A very special mage.”

“Anders... are you both alright?”

“We’re fine.”

“We should move on.”

The rest of their journey was unhampered. A few giant spiders were quickly dispatched; and a few rest breaks were needed for Maira, at Anders’ insistence. At last, they helped her mount the ladder up to the Docks, and found a shadowed crate on which she could rest. Fenris and Anders kept watch for the next party in the escape to arrive and take over.

“Oh!” she cried softly. Anders was at her side in a heartbeat.

“Is it the baby?”

“It’s just moving. Maker have mercy, it kicks like a mule.”

Anders put his hand where Maira indicated, and was immediately impressed by the fierce movement. 

“We could have used its help in the fight,” he said.

Fenris stepped forward, then. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, it’s just kicking. Here... feel.” Maira took Fenris’ hand and pressed it to her swollen belly.

Anders chuckled at his look of terror. Then, wonder stole over his face. His gauntleted hand spread wide, the bare palm feeling the motion of the baby within.

“That’s the child I feel?”

“Yes it is,” Moira said. “It has its father’s strength.”

Fenris looked at her intently, then at Anders. He couldn’t read what was in the elf’s head, and didn’t have a chance to ask. At that moment, a figure emerged from the shadows. A qunari figure.

Fenris stood before them, blade drawn. This qunari was immense, with upright horns making him appear even larger. When he spoke, it was in deep sotto voce.

“You Justice?”

Anders relaxed.

“I am.”

The qunari came forward, hands up to show lack of drawn weapon. He dressed like the average mercenary, rather than in qunari gear. A leather harness was strapped across his chest, a huge axe on his bare back. 

“I’m with Fisher’s Bleeders. We’ll take it from here.”

They helped Maira stand. She looked nervous, but bravely stepped toward the huge bull of a man. For all his fearsome appearance, his eyes softened as he took in her pregnant state.

“Take my arm, ma’am,” he said. “The boat’s ready to go. We’ll have you and the kid out of this shit hole in no time.”

They stood watching as the giant solicitously minced his steps to match Maira’s pace. The pair turned into a boarding slip, and were out of sight.

During the walk back to Hightown, Fenris was quiet. It wasn’t until they were in his mansion, having a drink, that he spoke.

“I could feel the child, within its mother’s womb.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“The Circle would take it away, that it never know its parents, nor its parents’ family.”

“Yes, they would. Children conceived in the Circle are orphans before they’re born.”

“It’s not right that either parent be made Tranquil.”

“It’s not right that any mage be made Tranquil, Fenris.”

“Danarius should be Tranquil.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to simply kill him?” Anders had a hard time justifying Tranquility for any reason. Death seemed fair enough.

“Perhaps. We did a good thing tonight, Anders.”

Anders smiled, nodding. That was the reason he’d asked Fenris to come. He’d wanted to put a face on the nameless mages who ran from the Circle. He’d wanted Fenris to see who Anders fought for. As far as escape missions went, it had been safe enough he’d been willing to have the elf along.

“I think so, too.”

The next afternoon, Fenris unexpectedly showed up at the clinic near closing-time. The place was empty, Anders occupied with the day’s clean-up. He was pleased, if a bit surprised, to see the elf in his doorway.

“I thought we were meeting at the Hanged Man,” he said, folding the last of the clean bandages.

“I... wanted to bring you this.”

Looking flustered, Fenris thrust out his hand, which held a huge bundle of flowers and leaves.

Anders was confused, looking at the riot of color and greenery. Then he took it from the elf, and realized what it was.

“These are all medicinal herbs!” 

The giant bundle was dominated by elfroot, but included various flowers, roots, and herbs; all used for healing. It had been arranged with the most colorful plants prominent in a riotous bouquet; all held together by a ribbon wrapped about the stems.

“You mentioned you were running low, so....”

“You went out, and collected these? For me? Fenris... that’s incredibly thoughtful.”

He was utterly charmed by the bashful expression the elf was wearing. 

“You... seldom have a chance to get out of the city.”

Anders found a large pot and filled it with water, in which to put the bundle’s stems. He smiled at the display, so bright in the drab surroundings.

“They’ll keep fresh until I can process them tomorrow. Really, thank you.”

Fenris nodded, face shining. “Ready to get dinner?”

“Absolutely.”

The next day, Fenris again arrived at closing time, this time carrying a basket. Anders was in the midst of hanging herbs on his drying rack. 

“You again? Look what I’ve been up to.” 

He gestured to the shelves and table beside him. He’d spent the slow moments of the day processing the bouquet he’d been given. Fenris looked pleased to see his gift utilized.

“I can’t get to the Hanged Man, this evening,” Anders said. “I’ll be working on this into the night.” 

Fenris smirked, lifting the basket. 

“I thought as much. Which is why I brought dinner.”

Anders sighed dramatically. “You... are a miracle. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

As Fenris drew a couple stools next to a cot, Anders unpacked the basket. It was simple fare; cold meats, fresh fruit, bread. He pulled out a small book, and looked quizzically at Fenris.

“Ah... yes. Hawke has loaned me books with which to practice reading. I hoped you wouldn’t mind hearing me as we eat.”

“Mind? I’d be delighted.”

After they’d had a few bites, he handed Fenris the book. “Go ahead. Display your talents.”

Fenris snorted, turning to a ribbon marker. “There is little to display, I fear.” 

Anders grinned, biting into another sweet fruit. Fenris cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He wondered if the elf had ever read for anyone besides Hawke. Voice melodic as always, he read haltingly from the marked page:

_“The past you cannot forget or undo,_  
_The future is all we can look forward to._

_I wish I could have been there by your side..._  
_For all the times you’ve wept and cried._

_Know from my heart, what I say is true..._  
_That I hurt for the pain you have been through._

_Never alone shall you be,_  
_Someday, freedom you will see._

_May your hopes and dreams come true,_  
_No matter where you are, I’ll always be here for you.”_

When he’d finished reading, Fenris glanced up at him. It took Anders just a moment to respond. The reading had been fine; a little slow, a few hesitations, but Fenris had clearly been working hard at this skill.

More than Fenris’ reading, the poem itself captured him. It was as though it’d been written for either of them; by a true friend who knew and understood them as no other. Suitable it had been the next reading in Fenris’ practice.

“That was perfect,” he murmured. 

“You thought it... sufficient?”

“More than. I like the poem, too. Very much.”

Fenris nodded, a small smile on his lips. “I do, as well.”

The next evening, Anders wasn’t surprised to again see Fenris come through his door.

“You’re making a habit of this,” he teased. “Come earlier, I’ll put you to work.”

With a smirk, Fenris reached into his hip pouch, and pulled out a small package. 

“I wished to give you this, before we went to the Hanged Man. There was a plant I could not gather the other day. So... here.”

With a grin, Anders took the package, and opened it. His eyes widened. Raising it to his nose, he sniffed deeply. Images flooded his mind; memories of home, his mother’s laughter, sitting in the curve of his father’s arm, the sweet smell of spiced cider simmering on the stove. His throat thickened with emotion. 

“Fenris....” he said. “You shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

Fenris’ face fell. “I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”

Anders pulled him into a hug. “It makes me happier than I can say.”

“Oh. Well... good. That’s what I’d hoped. I found a spice vendor in Hightown.”

Anders looked at the small, dry, brown sticks of cinnamon. He knew this cost a fortune. Yet Fenris had sought it out, and paid the price, simply to make him happy. 

“I can’t thank you enough. It means so much.”

Fenris positively glowed. “You can repay me by joining me for supper, tomorrow.”

Laughing, Anders carefully closed the box and put it on his desk. 

“Aren’t I joining you, tonight?”

“Tomorrow will be a proper meal, at my place.”

Anders nodded, remembering the elf’s minimal cooking skills at the cove. It would be interesting, at the least. 

Anders spent the next day in a bit of a daze, thinking of the lengths to which Fenris had gone yesterday, simply to make him happy. No one had ever done something so selfless for him. Throughout the day, he opened the package of cinnamon to breathe the scent, and smile. He wondered what he might do for Fenris, in return. As well as he knew him, there was still so much mystery about him. He like apples, and detested fish. He didn’t wear jewelry, or fancy clothes. He collected little treasures, and hid them under his bed... except for the spiny seashell. It resided in a place of honor, on the fireplace mantle. 

Anders pulled a pendant out from under his tunic, and held it. The small, cream-colored tube of lightning glass was now strung on a slender leather cord. Sandal had enchanted the rough glass unbreakable, and Anders had worn it for months, tucked under his clothing. Keeping it hidden mirrored his feelings for the elf, and it was... comforting.

Come evening, he let himself into the mansion at sundown. Savory, delicious smells filled the air, familiar and almost forgotten. Fenris stood smirking at the top of the stairs, wiping his hands with a towel.

“What did you do?” Anders asked in wonder.

“Made supper.”

He sprinted up the stairs, past the elf, and found the table set for two. He also found the floor swept clean of glass and debris; the toppled furniture righted; the puddles of candle wax scraped away; and every surface shining.

“You cleaned.”

Fenris shrugged. “A little. Orana actually did most of it.”

“Did she cook, as well?”

“A little. I actually did most of that.”

The delicious smell was emanating from a large dutch oven, suspended over the coals. Anders peered inside; exclaiming in delight.

 _“Schweinebraten!_ You made _schweinebraten?”_

Fenris looked utterly pleased with his surprise. “With potato dumplings, and... I forget the word.”

“Sauerkraut. I haven’t had this since I was a boy. Maker’s ass, Fenris. I cannot believe you made _schweinebraten!”_

“Will eating it make a believer of you?”

“Maybe. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Must you have done something? You have had too few good things. Come, let’s eat.”

It was delicious. Not quite the same as his mother had made, but close enough. He savored every bite. It was hard to find Anderfel food served in taverns and inns, and this was the first he’d had since leaving home. 

After a second serving, he contentedly pushed his plate away. 

“Fenris, thank you. So much.” 

“It’s my pleasure. Let’s go up to the roof for drinks.”

Stepping out of the turret, Anders was once again surprised. Near the bed of cushions sat a brazier and two mugs. On the brazier, simmered a small kettle. From the kettle, came the spicy-sweet scent of cinnamon-spiced apple cider. Anders nearly staggered.

“Andraste preserve me....”

Fenris filled the mugs. He handed one to Anders, and waited as he sipped. 

This was exactly as his mother had made. He nearly burned his tongue, with no patience to sip the hot drink. He saw Fenris sipping his, and an expression of sheer wonder came over his face. 

“You were right,” he said. “This is delicious.”

“Fenris... what’s gotten into you?”

His only reply was a soft smile. Fenris set their mugs aside, then made a graceful bow, hand extended.

“Dance?”

Mind spinning, Anders took his hand, and found himself led in the _Liebestanz._ There was no music, but they needed none; moving together in complete rapport across the roof. Fenris’ gaze was searching, and strangely vulnerable. Anders was bewildered. Everything Fenris had offered in the past few days had nearly flattened him. The bouquet of healing herbs, the priceless gift of cinnamon, the dinner, the cider. If he didn’t know better, he’d think--

Suddenly, everything came together; flowers, gifts, poetry, dinner, dancing. 

_It couldn’t be._ Could it? No. It couldn’t be.

Oh, Maker. Oh... _Maker._ It _couldn’t_ be. 

But... what if it was?

He spoke hesitantly. 

“Fenris... uhm... I don’t know how.... Fenris... are you... _courting me?”_

“Yes.”

He stumbled. Fenris caught him, and continued leading him in the dance. Anders’ heart galloped; butterflies filled his stomach. Fenris was courting him. _Courting him._ But, he’d never given Anders any sign of such. 

Maybe courtship meant something different in Tevinter? Maybe this was a sort of... apprentice/mentor thing. But, then again... maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was exactly what it seemed. Fenris’ gaze remained on him, making him stutter when he voiced his confusion.

“B-but... w-why?” 

“Because later doesn’t always come. Not for you and Karl, and, not for Maira and her man. I will waste no more time on uncertainty, Anders.”

He could barely breathe. He followed along in the dance, hearing Fenris’ words, over and over in his mind.

They moved through the final steps, and Fenris fell into his embrace. Their faces were close, breath mingling; so close... so inviting....

Was this wise? He’d sworn to never again risk his heart. Was Fenris doing this out of fear, or pity? Could their friendship survive such a change? Could he possibly live without what was being offered? 

Anders held him in his arms, and flailed within his mind. What should he do? How should he respond? What was best for both of them? Green eyes gazed into his; trusting, calm... desirous. 

_What should he do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Fenris read: Friendship by Nicolette J. Proffitt
> 
> Also... catch the cameo? Couldn't resist. :-D


	18. Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens next.
> 
> An old friend comes up in conversation.

Fenris watched Anders’ face in the moonlight, the mage holding him in the final dip of the dance. For so long, he’d desired him, and had no idea what to do. Despite all his training in pleasing others, Fenris couldn’t make the first advance; couldn’t initiate the first kiss. He didn’t know how. He’d only touched when commanded; only given what was demanded. 

This courtship had been Fenris’ desperate attempt to draw Anders into making the overture he, himself, could not. An eternity passed, as he gazed at the man who held him. Amber eyes with a thick fringe of long lashes. A faint dusting of freckles high on his cheekbones. Mobile lips parted, as though to speak, or descend in a kiss. Patiently, he waited for Anders to decide what happened next.

Anders stood them upright, removing his arms. Fenris’ heart sank, sure this was his answer. Until trembling hands cupped his face. Until slowly... so slowly... Anders’ lips lowered to meet his. The first touch surprised him; whisper light, sweet, and warm. He’d barely felt it before it ended. 

Their gazes met again, questioning, encouraging, hoping. When their lips met once more, it was with confidence. Still gentle... still slow; as though this was a kiss to savor. _And, it was._ Fenris realized he was out of familiar territory. This wasn’t a kiss he was trained to receive. He’d anticipated ardor, perhaps fumbling enthusiasm. He wouldn’t have even been surprised by desperate need, or grasping hands. At the least, it would have been familiar. 

_This..._ this wasn’t a kiss that claimed, or owned, or commanded. This kiss treasured. This kiss rejoiced. This was a kiss that began at his lips, and poured through his body like honey. His entire being was warmed by the sweetness of it. His eyes, at last, drifted shut, as he returned the breathtaking kiss.

Anders’ fingers caressed into his hair, lips playing over his with skill... such skill. Such adoration. There had never been a kiss like this in all the world. No other could be this good, this gentle, this right.

Just as gently, their lips parted, and eyes met in wonder. Fenris backed toward the makeshift bed, leading Anders by the hand. This much he knew... or, thought he did. Anders wasn’t giving any clues, wasn’t asking or instructing. He followed where led, head ducked almost bashfully, a soft smile on his amazing lips. 

As they settled into the cushions, Fenris knew they were both in uncharted waters. He had no idea how to act without instruction; Anders hadn’t the experience to lead. This might truly be the blind leading the blind. He looked at the brilliance in the honey-hued eyes, the shy, adoring smile; and knew none of it mattered. This wasn’t about the act. Whatever happened next was about _them._

As they lay together, gazes locked, Anders’ soft voice broke the silence.

“Fenris... what is it you want?”

What did he want? Could the beauty of one, be had by another? 

“To absorb you into my very being.”

Anders’ eyes closed. “You destroy me. You unmake me, and create me anew.”

With a finger, he traced those beautiful lips; the lower lip full, the upper too tender, too easily hurt. Anders drew the tip of his questing finger into his mouth. Fenris shivered, and with a breathy moan, resumed their kiss. 

He stroked his tongue into Anders’ mouth, drawing a groan from the mage. He hadn’t expected the sound of Anders’ arousal to cause a surge of his own, but it did. They lay together, fully clothed, no more of their flesh touching than hands and faces; and it was the most erotic experience of his life.

Anders’ lips were as expressive in a kiss as they were in conversation. It was as though they were speaking through touch, alone. Speaking of desire, and friendship, and hope, and fear. Their tongues engaged in a gentle dance, twining, stroking, exploring one another. 

He slid his hands under Anders' robes, mapping the shape of him through the long tunic. He knew this body; had seen it in its entirety, hundreds of times. He knew how he looked, smelled, sounded, and moved. But, he didn’t know _this._ The feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the breathy moans muffled by their kiss. No, these were entirely new. And, entirely consuming.

He pulled away, looking at the flushed, breathless expression on Anders’ face. Good... he wasn’t alone in the feeling. 

“How long have you felt this way?” Anders whispered.

Fenris combed his fingers through the auburn mop of hair. “I don’t know. One day, I just did.”

A single finger explored his face, tracing lips, cheeks, eyes, nose, chin. “You’re beautiful, Fenris. Inside and out. I never imagined we would be this way.”

“Nor I. I feared this risk might be too great. But, I could no longer bear not knowing.”

“Now you know. So kiss me.”

So, he did. Kissed him long, and deep, and well. Their questions and uncertainties were left behind as they explored this new, utterly delightful, aspect of one another.

Apparently, Anders had learned from all those hidden trysts in the Circle. Fenris had never been kissed so well, nor with such sweetness. The hands roaming his form weren’t groping, nor proprietary. Anders mapped his shape, as he’d mapped Anders'... carefully, considerately. 

In time, their hands and kisses slowed. They gently disengaged, and found comfortable positions, wrapped in one another. 

Part of him was disappointed not to explore further. A greater part was relieved. Fenris would have willingly given anything Anders asked. There was no one else with whom he could even imagine being this way. But given Anders’ past--or lack of one-- perhaps slower was better. He scoffed at himself. As if he had any way of knowing what was best. 

He pillowed his head on Anders’ feathered shoulder. Idly tracing his fingers across the worn tunic, he found something unyielding on his chest.

“What is this?”

“Hm? Oh....” 

Tugging a leather cord about his neck, Anders pulled the object from under his tunic. It was the lightning glass he’d given him.

“How long have you worn this?”

“Since shortly after we returned.”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t broken.”

“Sandal.”

“Ah. Clever boy.”

He rolled it in his fingers, pleasant memories flowing through his mind. He liked that Anders wore it. 

They lay together a long while, simply holding, letting the fever ebb. When the Chantry bells rang midnight, Anders pulled him close, and breathed deep. 

“I need to go.”

“Do you?” He’d be happy lying like this the rest of the night. 

“I do. Tomorrow evening, at the Hanged Man?”

“No. Tomorrow evening, right here. We will eat the leftover braten.”

Anders’ bright grin shone in the darkness. “Even better.”

They shared one more kiss; long, sweet, and heady... then he was gone. Fenris rolled onto the pillow on which he’d lain. Perhaps he imagined it, but he could just catch the scent of him. It was a scent he knew well, having shared the same bed so often. He inhaled deeply, then chuckled at himself; nose-deep in the cushions, like a beast seeking its mate. He fell asleep that way, holding the pillow against him.

The next day couldn’t pass fast enough. When Anders came through his door, Fenris met him halfway, and equally eager lips met his. Moans and sighs immediately filled the room. They forgot about dinner, making their shuffling way across the floor to Fenris’ bed. 

As he divested the mage of his robe, Anders murmured against his lips.

“Maker, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“It was mutual,” he said, giving sucking kisses to the now exposed neck. Anders had filled his thoughts during most of his days, for months. Today... he’d itched to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him. And now, he was here.

So he touched him. Light fingers threading into his hair, tracing his stubbled jaw, sliding under his tunic to stroke his skin. And he kissed him. Long, searching kisses; lips and tongues exploring; swallowing one-another’s sighs. And held him. Legs entwined, arms clinging, they couldn’t get close enough. 

After a time, their fervor slowed, and hearts calmed. Their kiss turned lazy, playful. Hands lightly explored, skirting those areas Fenris both wanted touched, and feared would be. He didn’t know why he was skittish; he’d handled, and _been_ handled, in every conceivable way. The mage would tell him when he was ready to pursue more... he hoped. Anders was not always predictable. 

“Fenris....”

“Mmmm.” As the mage’s mouth was now occupied with talking, Fenris moved his lips to other areas; jawline... ear... neck.

“I, uhm... Maker, that’s good... how many others... have you been with?”

“Why do you ask?” he breathed into his ear.

“Curious? I feel like... I don’t know....” 

Ah. Anders was skittish, as well. He left off his exploration to look at the now-nervous mage. 

“Things will not progress beyond your comfort.”

“Why _my comfort?_ Why am I the special case?” He did not seem calmed by this revelation. If anything, he seemed more anxious.

“I think it’s fair. You have the least experience between us.”

Anders moaned, putting a hand over his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“You can’t have actually forgotten?” He was confused by his reaction. 

“No, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just... you know what you’re doing. I know plenty of theory, but it’s not the same as actual practice.”

“You are concerned with your performance?”

“Maker, yes. I want it to be good for you, too. But you’ve done so much more....”

Fenris kissed him again, his lips too close to resist. “I assure you, your experience was of greater value than mine.”

“How so?”

Fenris sighed, and let his fingers trace the lips he so coveted. 

“Yes, I’ve been with many. I’ve done much, and had much done in return. Yet, there was no affection, no joy. I cannot compare that with what you and I share. Is it the mechanics of the act that worry you?”

He was answered with a lopsided grin. “I’ve been studying half my life. I feel reasonably acquainted with the _mechanics.”_

“Studying?” He was certain Anders wasn’t referring to the type of training he, himself, had undergone.

“Some was part of my healer training, surprisingly enough. And you wouldn’t believe how apprentices gossip. And all the time I spent hiding in brothels, on the run? Now, that’s an education. I’m not completely naive. I just lack _first-hand experience."_ He sighed. "Maker, this is embarrassing."

“There’s no shame in it. You sought a meaningful experience, and when you were ready, the opportunity was stolen. There’s no rush, Anders. If we never do more than this, I will be content.”

“Well, I won't be. I want to do much more than this.”

Fenris smiled softly, stroking the mussed, golden hair back from Anders’ face. He’d never been one to have soft feelings. Yet the two times they’d been in this situation, tender emotion welled-up from some unknown depth of him.

“We won’t go past either of our comfort, Anders. We’ll explore anything we like; and it will be perfect.”

"You're setting that bar pretty high.”

Fenris chuckled. “It will be perfect, because it will be authentic, not because it is well-choreographed.”

Anders grinned impishly. “Oh... is _that_ the choreography you run through the house performing?”

Fenris smirked. “Not quite. Though we could begin, together.”

“A different position for every room? I could get behind that.”

They chuckled together, the laughter muffled as they again explored one another’s lips. Anders truly knew his way around a kiss. They’d talked a bit about his past, but Fenris wanted more detail. He slowly disengaged his lips, sighing as the mage made explorations along his ear and neck.

“Exactly what has _your_ experience been?”

“Mmmff.... Like I've said... kissing... over-the-robe touching....”

“No more... not even with Karl?”

Anders halted the delightful nibbling he’d been giving Fenris’ earlobe.

“A little more with Karl. If we could find some decent privacy--which wasn’t easy--we took each other in hand. A few times we managed some robe-rubbing....”

“Robe-rubbing?”

Anders demonstrated, grinding their pelvises together. Both moaned at the sudden pleasure.

 _“Frottage..._ yes,” Fenris gasped. 

He’d done it before, as well... but never with such reciprocal feeling. The mage resumed kissing him, and he melted. This one was more heated; intense, full of groans, teeth, and thrusting hips. 

Anders seemed to be in an extremis of sensation. He gasped into their kiss, shuddered in his arms. He’d gone from playful exploration to desperate need.

“Fenris... I want you... show me....”

A groan escaped him. Venhedis, he wanted this man. Yet....

“I would rather you were truly certain--”

“I’ve ached for you, so long. What if something happens... before we have the chance... I want....”

Ah. Perhaps reminding him of Karl in this moment hadn’t been wise. But he wasn’t letting Anders rush into this in the heat of anxious lust.

“I’m not going anywhere, Anders,” he whispered in his ear. “We have plenty of time. Don’t make your choice out of fear.”

Anders didn’t reply, merely sealed his lips over his in a desperate kiss. He was expressing his anxiety through frantic action. Anders had lost everything and everyone he cared about. Fenris was in near awe, to realize Anders cared enough to fear losing him, as well. He was happy to assuage that fear, in some small way.

He gently palmed Anders’ bulging groin, drawing a surprised cry from him. A shudder ran down his body, as he thrust against Fenris’ hand. Slowly stroking the erection under his palm, he watched as he shuddered and gasped. Oh... he liked this. Seeing Anders in his pleasure was simply amazing. His hair was mussed, fanned against the pillow, framing his flushed face. And, the expression on that face... impassioned.

 _“Unnngghhhhhh..._ Fenris... don’t stop....”

His voice... his voice was like wind over sand. He gasped through his words, need foremost in his speech. 

Fenris kept his movements simple; indeed, no more was needed. Anders’ response was intense; hips thrusting, pushing himself against the stroking palm. Fenris cradled him with his other arm, holding him close, pressing kisses to his flushed face. A steady stream of moans escaped the mage. Fenris had no idea another’s pleasure could be so heady. He couldn’t get enough of seeing and hearing his passion. He whispered encouragement as he brought Anders closer to his peak.

“Feel me touch you... I’m right here... I’ve ached for you as well... believe what I say... we have all the time we need.”

“Fenris....” he whispered.

“Yes....”

“Don’t stop....” 

“Never,” he assured him. “Feel the pleasure.”

Watching Anders as he unravelled was unparalleled. He didn’t want it to end. He wanted to lie with him in his arms, and see his beautiful face blossom with rapture. It wasn’t long before Anders was panting; breath harsh and rapid.

“That’s it,” Fenris whispered, “You’re almost there.”

_“Ahhhhhhhh... Fen... Fen... Fenris... hnnn!”_

He felt the pulsing under his palm, watched the agony of pleasure play across the face he knew so well. 

_Exquisite._

Anders grasped at him, pulling him close, whimpers muffled against his neck. Fenris held him, feeling him tremble. This, from a simple clothed touch? Yes. This had been more than physical pleasure. This had been emotional need, more than physical. 

“Intense?”

Anders managed a nod.

“Just lie with me.... I’m right here.”

He nodded again. Fenris was content to hold and coddle him, as much as he needed. He was aroused, make no mistake; but the emotional high he felt bested any physical pleasure. This was an evening of firsts; and not only the first time a climax occurred between them. 

This was the first time _he’d_ chosen his lover. The first time _he’d_ chosen to be intimate. The first time _he’d_ directed the activity. He was torn between solemn acknowledgement, and giddy celebration. Had he been reminded of past interludes? Yes... a bit. Yet they'd been overwhelmed by their sharing.

He opened his mouth against the heated skin of Anders’ neck; tasting him, smelling him. They knew each other so well. It was right and fitting, they should also know one another this way.

“Would you like me to reciprocate?” came the breathless question.

“Another time. This was... special for me.”

Anders pulled back, and gazed at him. Such warmth in those amber eyes; like the stone that gave name to their color.

“I’m sorry I got so carried away.” 

“Don’t be. It was my pleasure.”

“No... I believe that was _my_ pleasure.”

Fenris smirked. “Indeed, it was. And mine, to witness.”

He stroked and soothed Anders as he drifted in the lassitude of afterglow, and held him as he slept. He replayed their interlude in his mind. It had been the most arousing experience he’d ever had, even without reaching climax. The thought of doing so made him flush with heat. Yes... he ached for this man; in the most delightful way.

Sleepy arms pulled him closer, and he smiled to himself, burying his nose in the tousled mop of hair. Tenderness filled him, and he happily succumbed to it. 

When he woke in the morning, Anders was staring up at the skylight above his bed, brow furrowed. 

“You look worried.”

Startled, Anders turned to him, a bright smile replacing the furrowed brow.

“Good morning,” he said, taking him in his arms. 

A sweet, lingering kiss ensued; somewhat surprising Fenris. When Danarius--indeed, any of those he’d served--had wished mouth-to-mouth contact, he’d been expected to have freshly sweetened breath. Apparently, Anders eschewed such formalities, and shared their waking breath eagerly. Fenris liked that attitude. Once his lips were freed, he spoke.

“You looked to be thinking very hard.”

“Mm-hm. You’re the best distraction, though.”

“Tell me what made you frown.”

“Worry-wart. I was just thinking about the coterie battle with Maira.”

“What about it?”

“You used magic during the fight. Along with your blade.”

Fenris nodded. “I didn’t have much choice, at that point. It was surprisingly effective.”

“It was also surprisingly familiar. I have a new theory.”

“Which is...?”

“Well, I couldn’t understand why you knew swordplay before receiving the markings. You were a mage... why would you be trained in weaponry?”

“But, now you know why?”

“I’m willing to bet you were trained as an Arcane Warrior.”

Fenris had never heard of such a thing. “What is an Arcane Warrior?”

“It’s an all-but-lost art combining magic and martial skills. The ancient elves practiced it.”

“If it is all but lost, how would I have been trained in it?”

“As with most of your past, we can only speculate. Lyrium Warriors aren’t common, are they?”

“They are not. I’m the first in several Ages. Danarius researched extensively to discover the process.”

“So it’s possible he could have learned of Arcane Warriors the same way?”

“Certainly. He collects ancient knowledge like others collect wealth.”

“That was my thought. A mage bodyguard, with martial skills... that’s impressive, even without the lyrium markings. Unless such combinations of skills are common in Tevinter.”

“They are not. No free mage would befoul his magic with the brutish skills of a Soporati.”

“There we go. It would also explain why your magical energy is colored arcane, yet you know only one arcane spell.”

Fenris nodded. He’d never heard of Arcane Warriors, yet Anders’ theory made sense. 

“And, then Danarius discovered the lyrium ritual,” he picked up Anders’ theory, “and decided to make his weapon more powerful.”

Anders nodded. “Until he realized it’s given you power greater than his own. So he hides your magic. Wait... that would mean you were still aware of your magic after you lost your memories. Are you sure it was the lyrium ritual that did it? Did he have some way of wiping people's memories?”

“I think you're reaching, Anders. My memories end, and begin, with the ritual. Perhaps he'd anticipated the lyrium’s effect on my magic, before I received the markings.”

“Could be. It’s all just conjecture, in any case.”

“Does this mean anything to me, now? Other than understanding my lack of arcane ability?”

“Well, it depends. Would it be valuable to you, to relearn your Arcane Warrior training?”

“Would it help me defeat Danarius?”

“Your lyrium-enhanced abilities are as strong as what I know of the Arcane Warrior set. But, you saw how effective it was to combine spells with swordplay, in the coterie fight. Retraining as an Arcane Warrior would give you a decided advantage. And, if you've already learned it, as I'm willing to bet, you'd pick it up fast. Much faster than putting magic and martial fighting together from scratch, or trying to learn Knight Enchanter skills. Either is a long, involved commitment.”

“It’s a moot point, regardless, isn't it? Danarius seems to be the only one who knows the secret of Arcane Warrior magic.”

"I didn’t bring this up just as an exercise in theory, Fenris. The reason your sword-and-magic work looked familiar to me, is because I’ve seen it before. You’re not the only Arcane Warrior in Thedas. Warden Commander Neria Surana is also one.”

"Warden Commander? _Your_ Warden Commander?"

“The same. How she came to be one is an interesting story. Regardless, Neria’s the only person I know who could retrain you.”

Fenris was dumbfounded. “Would she be willing to work with me?”

“I’m sure she would. The only fly in this ointment is me. We were friends once, before Justice slaughtered an entire unit of her Wardens. I don’t know how she feels about me, now.” 

“I won’t pursuit this if it means putting you in danger.”

“I’d like to avoid that, myself. I was thinking of having Hawke write her. The Champion of Kirkwall carries more clout than I do... and certainly has a better reputation. Maybe Hawke can show me in a better light than Neria’s memory does.”

Fenris frowned, thinking. “I would like to do this, if possible. But only if you’re not at risk.”

Anders grinned, and kissed him. 

“Let’s let Hawke’s silver-quill work its charm.”

After a breakfast of leftover _schweinebraten,_ they headed for Hawke’s estate. 

They arrived in time to join her for fruit and custard, pleasing Fenris greatly. 

Anders quickly outlined the situation, and their hope she would act as an intermediary between Warden Commander Surana, and themselves.

“As long as you’re asking about Arcane Warrior teachings, maybe mention force magic, as well? I’ve had no luck finding a teacher. And, I wouldn’t mention Justice. I don’t know what she knows about us.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to write, for you. Mother would be thrilled I’m finally putting her correspondence teaching to use. The Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden. I didn’t realize you once moved in such august company, Anders.”

“Stumbled into it, is more like it. She was never _august_ in manner, Hawke. We were both in the Circle, at one time. She was conscripted before I made my last escape.”

Fenris didn’t know why, but that surprised him. He’d assumed she’d been an apostate. It occurred to him... she’d known Anders before Justice. She'd also known Justice before Anders. She may have known Anders before his year in isolation. He found himself aching to know more about Anders' past. 

“Corresponding with the Consort to the Ferelden Throne. Mother would be so proud! Perhaps Sebastian can give me some pointers. He’s familiar with royal protocol, after all.”

“On my account? Doubtful.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” she said. 

Anders sighed. “I’ll trust your judgement, Hawke. We didn’t part on the best of terms, and anything that will add a little shine would be welcome.”

““It’s not just for you, Anders. I'd want Fenris treated with the respect he deserves, if you end up going.”

Fenris looked at her with gratitude. They had a true friend in this woman. Hawke continued.

“Hm. A letter from me... a recommendation from the Prince of Starkhaven... maybe even from the Guard Captain. You know, I’ll bet I can even browbeat one out of Seneschal Bran. That should shine you both up nicely, don’t you think?”

Anders laughed. “If you think you can convince any of them to give us a recommendation, by all means! Hawke, I knew coming to you was a good idea.”

“What good is power or position, if it can’t help others?” she asked.

 _That,_ Fenris thought, _was something a great many magisters could stand to learn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. We took the edge off. :-D
> 
> So... _we_ know Danarius _was_ able to wipe memories without the lyrium ritual. But, they don't. And... it's all speculation, anyway. ;-)
> 
> Danarius finding the Arcane Warrior knowledge isn't unreasonable. A ton of "Tevinter" magic is just co-opted ancient elven magic. 
> 
> Neria Surana! <3


	19. Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders feels nothing but joy... until an escape goes wrong.

Anders spent the next several days in a state of distraction. First, simply thinking of Fenris, and the change in their friendship. He could hardly believe they’d taken this turn. Could hardly believe Fenris felt the same desire for him, as he felt for the elf. Could hardly believe the passion that flamed between them when they touched. 

As desperate as he’d been to consummate their intimacy that night, he was glad Fenris kept it slow. Going from seven years without physical pleasure, to snogging like apprentices, was a bit overwhelming. Even the simple, over-the-trousers touch he’d received had been devastatingly intense. If it had been anyone else, he’d be mortified by his reaction. Yet, it had been Fenris; and that meant everything.

With Hawke working on a letter to Neria, he turned his attention to his own letters. He was still waiting to hear from the Grand Cleric on his request for an audience. He’d written to the Divine, though he didn’t really expect a reply. He was working on his manifesto... had been for years, actually. He constantly revised and edited; searching for ways to make it be seen, understood, taken seriously. 

So much had been put on hold since the Qunari Uprising; the city was focused on recovery. At the least, he’d heard conditions in the Circle had improved since the death of Alrik and his cronies. Yet at the same time, Knight Lieutenant Karras had gained a following. He had paranoia of magic to rival Meredith’s. He was also the one visiting young Alain’s chambers. Anders had tried to convince the boy to escape, but he refused. Many mages preferred the Circle over apostasy, regardless of the abuses they suffered. Better the evil you know, than the evil you don’t. 

He’d aided a few more escapes since Maira’s. He didn’t ask Fenris to help with those. Maira’s had been a special case; well organized, with strength in numbers and anonymity. He wouldn’t risk bringing him on a run-of-the-mill job. There were often templars to engage, and little back-up. The idea of Fenris being captured, or recognized, was too great. Just the thought made his heart pound. 

_He would not lose him._

Tonight, they were meeting the gang for Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man. They’d become a bit home-bound the past week. First, with Fenris’ courtship... which was one of the bravest acts Anders ever witnessed. Then, their obsession with one-another had kept them pleasantly occupied. 

Beyond Fenris guiding him to his one desperate climax, their activities had been very like those of Anders’ Circle days. Kissing, caressing, pressing close; it was almost innocent. Not that Anders didn’t masturbate frantically, the moment he was alone. But, he was delighted with what they shared. Their friendship was strong, and their affection exciting. It was all, simply put, _good._

He’d arrived at the tavern earlier than Fenris, and while picking at his bronto roast, chatted with Varric. Also, surprisingly, with Merrill. He hoped she might be a source of information regarding Arcane Warriors.

“Really?” she asked. “Are you sure? Arcane Warriors exist only in our legends!”

“I’m sure Neria’s one. And, I’m ready to bet Fenris is, too.”

“I’m not sure I’d bet if I were you, Blondie. You’re track record’s not that great.”

“Pfft. Bet against me where _magic’s concerned,_ Varric, and I’ll fleece you every time.”

“OK, I’ll concede my point. So, you and Broody might be heading to Ferelden, huh? What happened to his mantra of _‘I don’t wish to use magic, simply control it?’”_

“I have no idea if we're going to Ferelden, at this point. And, when it comes to defeating Danarius, he’ll try anything. Don’t give him a hard time about it.” He smirked to himself... _hard time._ They’d had several very hard times, recently.

“Oh my,” Merrill crooned. “Look at that smile. Do I see a twinkle in your eyes?”

Varric glanced at Merrill, then at Anders. “Daisy, I think you’re onto something. What gives, Blondie?”

“What? We’re friends, you know that.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Shut up, Varric.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Merrill giggled. “It’s your eyes that are talking, Anders.”

“Oh, for the love of.... Look, Merrill. Do today’s Dalish practice Arcane Warfare, or not?”

“Not since the time of Arlathan. If Fenris learns it, perhaps he would share it with the Dalish.”

“I wouldn’t count on him spreading magic around. It’s taken over a year to get him this far.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Varric said. “You two were in exile this time last year, weren’t you? Time flies.”

Anders caught sight of the elf in question coming through the door. Fenris hesitated, taking a moment to assess the tavern before moving in. Anders watched, enjoying the view. He wore his usual semi-scowl, eyes cutting across the crowd of patrons. The dim lighting did nothing to dim the silk of his hair, or the intensity of his bearing. He was proud, strong, and beautiful. The green eyes met his, and Anders felt himself flush. A smile played on both their lips as Fenris moved gracefully across the floor.

“Holy shit, Daisy. You were right.” 

“Both of you, shut it.”

Fenris nudged Varric. The dwarf slid down the bench, but not before casting a smirk at them both. Without hesitation, Fenris took Anders’ fork, and began eating off his plate. 

“I’m glad you didn’t get the stew,” he commented between bites. “Nug doesn’t sit well with me.”

Anders laughed, forgetting about the others. Fenris was nearly in his lap, leaning in to share his plate. He could feel his heat, smell his scent, and it was all he could do not to pull him into a blistering kiss.

“That’s one way to put it,” he replied. “Another would be, it turns you into a leaking bag of swamp gas.”

Fenris snorted. “Just don’t light a flame nearby.”

“You’re not kidding,” Varric said. “We shared a tent on the Wounded Coast, once. Just once.”

Fenris shrugged. “It keeps the spiders away.”

“Dwarves, too,” Varric grumbled.

“You gonna leave any for me?” Anders asked. Fenris had nearly cleared the plate.

“We didn’t eat last night,” Fenris reminded him. “Or, this morning.”

“Oh-ho!” Varric exclaimed. “I want full disclosure... _argh,_ where’s my quill and ink?

Isabela appeared out of nowhere, and plopped beside Merrill.

“Full exposure? I’m just in time.”

 _“Dis-_ closure, Rivaini. Although exposure may be involved.”

Fenris looked utterly and adorably confused. “What are they on about?” 

Anders sighed. “They’re sure they see a twinkle in my eyes. Because of you.” 

“Twinkle?” Fenris asked. “Ah... twinkle. As in sparkle. Or, shimmer.”

Anders grinned. “Glimmer. Glint. Glow!”

“Scintillate.”

“Oh, good one.”

“Thank you.”

“Nice, fellas. But, you still haven’t answered the question.”

Anders shrugged. “I don’t believe one was posed, Varric.”

“Well,” Isabela said, disappointed. “I arrived just in time for nothing.”

“Are we playing cards, or not?” Fenris asked.

“Isn’t Hawke coming?” Merrill asked.

“It’s All Soul’s Day,” Varric said. “She’s at the Chantry. With Choir Boy.”

“She did lose her entire family, Varric,” Isabela pointed out. “Isn’t that what this holiday is about? Moping over dead people?”

Anders shook his head with a chuckle. “Close enough.”

Eventually, despite the chatter, the game was begun, played, and finished. The walk to Fenris' mansion was hot, bonfires lit throughout the city adding to the heat of the late-summer night. People dressed as spirits walked somberly through the streets, making the city look like a not-quite-right Fade.

“What _is_ All Soul’s Day?” Fenris asked. 

“Remembrance of the dead, and Andraste’s immolation.”

“Do you observe the holidays?”

“Not anymore. You?”

“No. I’ve been to many observances with Danarius, but I was certainly not a participant. He went only for the pomp.”

“My village had huge celebrations. I loved taking part.”

“I’m sorry you lost that.”

Anders shrugged. “We all grow up, and move away. Or, in my case, vice-versa.” 

If not for the templars, he’d have grown up in his village, and lived the rest of his happy life among friends and family. Perhaps married, and had a family of his own. Were his parents making the walk around the bonfires, right now? Did they ever think of him, and wonder whether he lived, or was among the departed? Did they miss him? Had they forgotten all about him? He sighed, darkness edging into his thoughts. He cast about for a distracting topic.

“So... would you rather our little group not know about our newfound familiarity?”

Fenris shrugged. “I am not ashamed of what we share.”

Up on the roof, their usual haunt on summer evenings, they explored more of that newfound familiarity. Kissing Fenris was astounding. Anders had kissed hundreds of people. In the Circle, everyone was fair game; men, women, old, young... well, not _too young._ With all those enjoyable escapades, he felt he’d refined his kissing skills to a respectable degree. And yet... _Fenris._

Fenris did things with lips, tongue, and teeth he couldn’t quite explain. And, more... it was as though his entire body was engaged in the kiss. The way his head tilted, and fingers grazed him. The way his chest moved with his breath, and thighs slid along his own. The way his body molded to Anders’ when he held him close. It was as though the entirety of Fenris was engaged in a dance, all culminating in a kiss.

Anders wondered if sex with Fenris could be as astounding as this. If this much went into the touching of their lips, what would a joining of their bodies be like? Not that he had any comparison, of course. He’d also wondered at Fenris’ comment, saying his previous experiences hadn’t been affectionate. Perhaps, like Circle apprentices, slaves found pleasure where they could, even if it lacked true emotion. He knew that wouldn’t be case between the two of them. Their desire and affection was authentic.

Right now, Fenris’ moans indicated clear desire. Anders had learned the elf enjoyed his neck kissed and sucked, and Anders was thrilled to do it. Fenris also liked his ears stroked with light fingertips or tongue; up to the points, and down to the lobes. 

“My neck...” said Fenris’ hoarse whisper.

Anders sucked on the ridge of muscle running along his neck to shoulder, moaning at the shudder it caused in the elf. 

“Scratch,” Anders whispered, mouthing along the long column of throat. The hands stroking under his tunic turned to claws, and scored down his spine. Heat flared in his body; he sucked at the muscle on the other side of Fenris’ neck. The answering moan fueled his heat.

He felt his tunic lifting, sliding up his torso. This was new. Not to be bared in front of Fenris, but to be bared in this situation. They’d kept a layer of clothing, thus far. He lifted his arms, happy to remove the barrier.

The Chantry tower rang midnight. He groaned.

“Fenris... I have to go.”

“Why must you?” 

“I have a meeting.”

Fenris’ head lifted, looking at him intently.

“What sort of meeting could you possibly have, at midnight on a holiday?”

“You know what sort.”

“Listen to the celebrants, Anders. There’s too much activity, tonight. You put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

Anders sat up, pulling his askew clothing back to order.

“If you like, I’ll come by in the morning for breakfast.”

“What I’d like, is for you to tell me about this meeting.”

“Fenris.... You don't normally act like this when I have Underground business. Just wish me luck, and kiss me goodnight.”

“This is not a normal night. Most of Kirkwall is awake and active. The city's crawling with templars.”

He stood and found his robe. He had to admit, Fenris had a point. 

“Alright, yes, it’s a major holiday. Which means most of the templars are either crawling all over the city, as you said, or at Chantry services. This leaves a smaller complement at the Circle. It also means there’s no one to receive shipments from the lyrium smugglers, so the tunnels are unoccupied by coterie. It’s a perfect night for a rescue.”

“And, you think the templars haven’t considered that?”

“They didn’t consider it last year.”

 _“Last year?_ They certainly know it, now! _Fasta vass,_ Anders! You’ll be walking into an ambush!”

“They’ll never expect it two years in a row.”

“This is madness. You’ll be overrun.”

“I’m not going alone, Fenris. There’s more than a dozen of us. We hope to get out that many mages, or more, in one night.”

Fenris stood, and took his hands. Even in the dark, Anders could see the appeal in his eyes. 

“Please... don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“You don’t. If there’s more than a dozen going, you won’t be missed. If it’s an ambush, you won’t be caught.”

“Fenris, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“You think not? I’m aware you’ve been running escapes, and I haven’t interfered. This is what you do, and who you are, and I won’t ask you to change. But this... tonight... it’s not the same. _I feel it._ They know you’re coming.”

“What do you know, that I don’t?”

“Only that I will _not_ lose you.”

Anders’ defenses collapsed. 

“Fenris... damn it.” He walked to the edge of the roof, thinking. “Alright. I need to unlock the entrance to the tunnels. But, I won’t go. I’ll stay at the clinic, in case there’s injuries when they return.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust that spirit inside you.”

With Fenris in tow, Anders traveled through Darktown, and unlocked the entrance door. He told those who’d gathered he’d been warned of a possible ambush, and would be staying behind. The rest continued on the mission, convinced of the safety of their plan.

Hours past the group’s expected return, Anders dropped through the entrance into the tunnels, Fenris behind him. The elf hadn’t argued when he’d declared he was going after them. He’d simply stood and followed. 

The tunnels were empty until they neared the Gallows’ warrens, at which point they came across the first of the bodies. Some appeared to have died in combat. Some lay in large pools of bloody vomit. Most bore purplish discoloration about their terrified faces, eyes blood-red. The dead included the rescue team, Circle mages, and a few templars.

“Maker’s breath,” Anders said in horror. “What happened, here?”

Fenris inspected a cluster of barrels near the fallen templars. 

_“Saar-qamek,”_ he growled. “I’ve seen this before, on Seheron. Hawke spoke of combating such an attack in Lowtown, while we were gone last summer.”

“The templars used a qunari poison?”

“Apparently. It is efficient. Most die of the poison, the rest kill one-another in battle.”

“Meredith used qunari poison to kill civilians and mages... even her own men were not exempt! Is there no low to which she will not sink? No horror she’s unwilling to unleash?”

He felt Justice stirring, and nearly panicked. Surrounded by dead rescuers and mages, would the spirit mistake Fenris for one of their attackers? He focused his thoughts to calm him... and succeeded. Justice faded back within, mollified.

Fenris watched him, no fear or anger in his expression. Simply... watching.

“I’m sorry, Anders.”

“For what?”

“The loss of lives; your associates, these mages.”

“I should have been here.”

“You would lie among them.”

“Not necessarily....”

“You believe Justice could save you from the _saar-qamek?”_

“Possibly.”

“It’s an uncertainty I am not willing to test. Are you?”

Anders didn’t know if Justice would be able to save him from the poison gas. If he lost the ability to reason, what effect would it have on the spirit? Would he also lose his reasoning? Would he understand Anders was in mortal danger from a foe Justice could not see? He couldn’t answer those questions, and no feedback came from within. He had to accept he very likely would have died.

“Let’s at least cremate them,” he said.

The sun was rising outside the overlook to the wharf when they returned to the clinic. 

Once behind the locked door, Anders spoke.

“Go ahead.”

Fenris looked confused. “What?”

“Say you told me so. Say I was wrong. Say my obsession for mage freedom will get me killed.”

“Why would I say these things?”

“Because they’re true.”

“Anders....” Fenris sighed. “Tonight was an unfortunate matter of you and your associates underestimating the Knight Commander. She outmaneuvered you, and the cost was great.”

“We should have expected qunari tactics from a Chantry entity?”

“Your group should have expected _something._ As driven as you are to free the mages, Meredith is equally driven to contain them. She will meet you blow for blow, Anders.”

He couldn’t argue with what Fenris said. Yet, it changed nothing.

“I can’t stop trying. I’m partially responsible for those people’s deaths. I can’t just give up fighting for what they sought... for what I seek.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. I would only suggest greater caution.”

“That’s all?”

"This was not your doing, Anders. You were part of a whole.”

“But, I lived, Fenris, and they died. I should have done something!”

“You warned them. They chose to continue. You live to fight another day.”

Anders rubbed his face wearily. “I’m sorry. I’m complaining, when I should be grateful for my life”

Fenris came forward, and pulled Anders into an embrace. “I am grateful for your life.”

Anders pulled him tight, feeling the tension bleed away. 

“You’re not going to lose me,” he whispered, meaning every word. 

He would overcome death itself to remain at this man’s side.


	20. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders surprises Fenris, who surprises Anders in return.
> 
> But, not in a good way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is brief, non-descriptive mention of child sacrifice in this chapter.

Fenris had spent the day with a unit of guardsmen, on a raid outside the city. Originally, he’d tipped Aveline about a group of slavers making inroads to the Alienage. She’d planned on leading the raid, but had been waylaid by politics.

“Idiot nobles, and bigger idiot templars,” she’d grumbled.

“You almost sound like Anders,” he’d smirked.

“The bloody Knight Commander and her bloody notion of keeping the city under martial law in bloody perpetuity!”

“Now, you definitely sound like Anders.”

“The qunari are gone, but chaos still bubbles under the surface. I have to stay and clean up a mess, but I’m sending Donnic in my stead. I’d appreciate it if you would accompany him... in case there’s trouble.”

Fenris managed a straight face. Of course there would be trouble, that’s what came of routing a slaver den. Yet, he saw the same concern on Aveline’s face as he felt for Anders running escapes. She worried for her lover, regardless of his proven skill.

The trouble they found had been, at the least, fairly straightforward. It was a small group, easily overwhelmed; and only a few survived to be jailed. Although some elves had been shipped out of reach, a large number were still on the premises. And, were now on their way back to loved ones.

He walked through Hightown with a spring in his step. Nothing made Fenris happier than crushing the hearts of slavers. 

Except, of course, Anders.

Anders in his arms. Anders in his bed. Kissing Anders. Touching Anders. The pleasure between them was beyond his wildest imagination. And, he’d yet to even climax. Neither of them had, after he’d sated Anders the once. And, Fenris knew that had been more about reassurance than sex.

Not that Anders lacked reassurance with the elf around. Fenris wanted to consume him. To fill his eyes with his visage, his ears with his voice, his nose with his scent, his mouth with his taste, his hands with his body. He sped his pace, the sooner he was home and washed away the filth of the day, the sooner he could do all those things.

Walking through the door of his mansion, he knew something was afoot. A delicious smell filled the air. Sweet, spicy. It was mixed with something savory... a roast, perhaps? 

Taking the stairs two at a time, he found Anders stirring a pot over the coals, wearing nothing but a thin pair of sleep pants and the lightning glass pendant. It had been awhile since he’d seen the mage undressed, and he appreciated the view.

Anders stood. “There you are! Aveline told me what you were up to. How’d it go?”

“Successfully. What are you up to?” He tried to look into a cloth-covered dish, and got his hand slapped. 

“You’re filthy. Into the wash room.”

He was herded into the bathing chamber. The giant, chipped, porcelain bathtub was filled with water. A small table stood beside it, holding a variety of soaps, bottles, and towels. Anders gestured to the washing stool.

“Strip, sit, and be cleansed.”

“What are you wearing?” The pants were thin, low-hanging, and just shy of transparent. His eyes were drawn to the line of fine, fair hair traversing from navel to low-riding waistband. The shape of his hips, ass, and long legs were artfully defined by the material. 

“The same thing you will be, as soon as you’re clean. Get to it.”

He peeled off his armor, tunic and leggings. He was grateful for Anders’ fire magic, when the water dumped over his head turned out to be warm. After several dousings, sluicing away the worst of the blood, sweat, and dirt, he was ushered into the tub.

Warm, relaxing water covered him to the neck. He stretched-out, breathing a sigh of appreciation. This... was wonderful.

Gentle hands settled on his head, kneading into his hair.

“Anders, you truly know how to welcome someone home.”

“I recall you doing something similar, not long ago; I just added the bath.”

There was a light, pleasant scent, and the kneading fingers were sliding in soft lather. Anders was washing his hair... and it felt marvelous. 

“I tried to find something without a flowery stink. This is based on some sort of resin.”

“Good choice.” 

“It has the added bonus of repelling lice and fleas.”

“How romantic. You’re giving me tingles.”

“Just as I planned,” Anders whispered into his ear, giving him a very different kind of tingle.

After too short a time, he was instructed to duck under the water to rinse, and handed a pot of lye soap. 

“Wash.”

“I like those pants,” he said, lathering his body. 

Anders winked. “I thought you might.”

“When do I get to watch you bathe?”

Anders laugh warmed him. “Another time. For now, the pants will have to suffice.”

Washed, dried, and garbed in the same very comfortable pants Anders wore, he was treated to a delicious dinner of actual beef, cooked with potatoes, carrots, and onions. Dessert was something similar to apple pie, but without a crust, and a crunchy, spicy layer on top.

“Did you actually cook all of this yourself?”

“Yes, I did. Mutti taught me to cook. She said no son of hers was going to be helpless in the world.”

“Cooking will keep you safe?”

“It’s kept me fed.”

Dinner over, they moved to the roof. It was one of those hot nights of late summer. The thin sleep pants were comfortable, the warm breeze across his back and chest reminding him of the cove. Lying beside Anders, he could see his fair skin clearly in the dark. Last summer’s tan had long since faded, and most of his freckles with it. His hair had lost it’s beach color, auburn streaking the blonde.

He reached a hand to tangle in the inviting tresses, in turn inviting Anders to lean over and nuzzle him. Trailing the tip of his long nose across his throat, and up his neck, Anders made his stomach flutter pleasantly.

Then, he tracked up to Fenris’ sensitive ear, and began a nibbling trek up the length of it. He groaned. He had no idea why his ears should be so susceptible to this, but he didn’t question it. He simply turned his head to give Anders access to continue.

Fingers trailed across his bare chest, unhampered by clothing. Those talented lips made their way down his ear, and across his jaw. With a breathy moan, Anders took his lips in a scorching, consuming kiss. 

He returned the kiss with fervor, tongues dancing, as his own hands found the fine hair on the mage’s chest. He ran his fingers into it, remembering how he’d once left it sticky with honey. One day, perhaps he’d find more, and lick it from Anders’ body. With a surge of heat at the thought, he found Anders' pale, pink nipples, and tweaked them, feeling him twitch in response. 

“Maker... do that, again.”

He took his time, using long idle skills, and explored Anders’ responses. He was sensitive, and when Fenris used his lips and tongue on the hardening peaks, he splayed himself out, arms wide, and moaned his pleasure. 

“You enjoy this?” he whispered, watching the mage gasp and twitch.

“Yes... Maker, yes.”

“I would enjoy spreading your nipples with honey... and sucking it off.” 

Anders jolted, moaning louder. “Fuck... Fenris... _yes....”_

He moved down his body, tasting the flesh laid out before him. He didn’t know why they’d not removed more clothing before now. Certainly both knew how the other looked naked. Regardless, this was heady, to see and feel so much more. 

He traced his tongue down to the dip of his navel, and circled it. Anders’ belly shook lightly as he chuckled at the tickling sensation. That too, was something new for Fenris. Laughter combined with pleasure. 

Warm hands reached for him, and pulled him back up for a kiss. On the way, his erection slid against Anders’ through their thin pants.

_“Venhedis.”_

_“Maker’s breath.”_

They froze, an exquisite rush of pleasure shuddering through both. Fenris fought the instinct to thrust. Anders had no such compunctions, and moved against him, sliding their erections together. Fenris groaned, returning the motion. Anders gasped, voice faint.

 _“Don’t stop....”_

Stop this exquisite pleasure? He doubted he could. He moved his hips, the light pants between them seemingly non-existent. He felt Anders' turgid heat against his own, felt pleasure bloom throughout his body. Anders held him close, cradling him between raised thighs. 

The feel of Anders’ body against him, hands smoothing over bare skin, thighs clasped about his hips... that alone made him heat with fever. Never mind the rapture of their erections sliding against one another. 

“... more....”

Yes... _more._ He wanted _more._ He wanted to bring the man under him pleasure such as he’d never known. Wanted to find pleasure with him. Wanted to explore and explode. He sealed their mouths together, moans mingling in their kiss. His fingers buried themselves in soft, auburn hair, as he strove to bring them both bliss.

Soon, the world narrowed to the exquisite friction of their cocks stroking together. The sound of their muffled gasps, the feel of their lips, each devouring the other. Both their need, so long held in check, drove them. Fenris was nearly helpless in its grip.

Anders panted beneath him, grasping his buttocks to pull him harder against his thrusting pelvis. Every curve and angle of his cock was clearly felt through the thin material; the warm wetness where each was leaking at the tip. 

“Anders....” He simply needed to say his name. “Anders... _ahhhhhhhh....”_

“Maker, don’t stop... Fenris....”

Anders’ voice... hoarse with passion, with need... was calling to him. _Him._ He couldn’t reply, for the long, wanting moan pulled from his throat. Hot tension coiled ever tighter in his belly. He panted, breaths mingling, and thrust with purpose; determined to bring Anders the same pleasure building within him. 

He could see Anders' ascension begin. His face awash in pleasure, with awe. His chest flushed as deeply as his beautiful face, hair loose and sticking to sweated skin. Each exhalation became a moan, growing in volume as they moved together. Fenris cupped Anders’ face in his palms, treasuring each cry and expression he made.

“Fenris... _oh, Maker..._ Fenris... it... it....”

Yes... _it. It_ was unbearable. _It_ was unbelievable. _It_ was passion’s storm, unleashed, bearing down on their trembling bodies. _It_ was almost there.

 _“Fen... Fen... Fenris...!”_

He watched in awe as Anders arched his neck, shuddering through his climax. _He was breathtaking._

Then it happened. Waves of rapture washed over him... again... and again. Heart-stopping ecstasy; like nothing he’d ever known or imagined. He was drowned in pleasure, and left helpless in its wake. 

Before the feeling had begun to fade, memories came. Images. Some familiar, many not. People, voices, events, all filling his mind in an instant. _He remembered._

And, just as quickly... he forgot. A sorrowful moan left him as his entire life both appeared and disappeared, in the blink of an eye. He yet shuddered with ecstasy, even as turmoil filled him.

_WHAT WAS HAPPENING??_

He buried himself against Anders, wrapping himself around the man who had sustained him untold times; and who held him now, not knowing Fenris trembled as much from torment as euphoria. 

“Fenris... that was... oh, Maker... _that was incredible.”_

He nodded, pulling him tight. For it _had_ been incredible. He was still in a state of bliss, even as he teetered on the edge of anguish. He couldn’t begin to put all he felt into words. He could only cling desperately to the man who’d meant comfort for so long. 

Anders began to drift in the afterglow, relaxing in his arms. Fenris stroked his back and hair, soothing him as he found his way into the Fade. Finally, he left him asleep in the bedding, and mind reeling, made his way back to his room.

He was at a loss. The memories teased the edges of his mind. He realized they were the same memories he’d seen, and lost, while drowning. He assumed he forgot them because he’d died, the first time. _Died._ Yet, he also forgot them, now. _Why?_

He paced before the hearth, warring with himself. His instinct was to run; to put distance between himself that which hurt him. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to run from Anders. Anders didn’t _hurt;_ Anders _healed._ Anders was peace and comfort. 

_Run!_

_Stay._

_Venhedis._

The mage’s robes were piled on a bench before the hearth. He picked up a cloth strip Anders wore wrapped about his arm. They were strips of bandage, he’d learned. Anders wore them so they were handy, to tie on a poultice, or secure a splint. So devoted a healer, he wore his tools of trade. 

Fenris wrapped the cloth about his own wrist. It was comforting to feel it there. Something that belonged to his friend. His confidant. His lover. 

Familiar footsteps made their way into his room. Anders' voice was filled with humor.

"Fenris, you iced the rooftop. Did you--" he broke off.

Fenris couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Was it that bad?” Anders tentatively asked. 

“It was better than anything I have ever imagined.”

“Then, why do you look so upset?”

“I began to remember my life before. Just... flashes. It was....” he didn’t know how to describe it. 

“Your life before?”

“Yes. There were faces... words... for just a moment, I could recall all of it. And then it slipped away. I... had the same experience, while drowning.”

“Why would that happen again, tonight?” 

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t... I had to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Fenris. If I’d known what would happen....”

“How could you have possibly known?”

“Well, something brought them on. What was similar about the first time, and this time, to make them surface, again?”

Fenris shrugged. He could see Anders’ mind was locked on the mystery. 

“You died the first time. I’ve heard it said, one’s life flashes before their eyes. But, you weren’t dying, tonight. What else could it be?”

Even in his distress, Fenris admired Anders’ brilliance and tenacity. He was so determined to make this right for him.

“When you described that day, you said you felt terrified... helpless. But that wasn’t the case, tonight. Or... was it? Maker, did I hurt you, Fenris? Did I say something to--”” 

“Anders... you were wonderful.”

His relief was clear. “If not that, then what?” 

Sudden comprehension dawned over his face. Sorrowful eyes met his.

“Fenris... has someone hurt you? One of your previous lovers?” 

He shrugged. “There was often pain. But, they were hardly lovers.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Slaves don’t have lovers. They have masters. And, though they often serve their bodies, do not mistake them for lovers.”

Anders paled. “You... served Danarius, this way?”

Fenris sighed. He’d avoided this revelation, not because he didn’t trust Anders, but because of his own conflicted feelings about it. 

“I did.”

Anders swallowed. “You... said you’d been with many. Were they all...?”

“He sometimes gave me to others. But, it was hardly traumatic, Anders. I doubt this has anything to do with the memories.”

Anders abruptly sat, nearly missing the bench. 

“Anders?”

“I didn’t know,” he whispered hoarsely.

“How would you?”

“You were with him for a decade,” he said in the same hoarse voice. “He raped you for a decade. He handed you to others, like... like he was _loaning a book.”_

“It wasn’t rape. If you recall, there was a time Danarius meant much to me. Serving him was an honor.” 

“It was no honor, Fenris.”

“Certainly, I know this now. Still, you are making too much of it.”

“Too much cannot be made of all he’s done to you.”

“Can we not let this go?”

He could see Anders struggle with himself. Finally, he nodded.

Fenris nodded, in return. He was tired, and his drive to run had calmed. He wanted to return to their bed under the sky, and hold Anders in his arms. 

“Come back to bed?” he asked.

“Sure.” Anders’ voice was thick. “In a minute. I need the loo.”

But, he wasn’t up in a minute. After some time, Fenris went looking for him, finding him at the bottom of the stairwell. Both hands clapped over his mouth, he quietly gasped and shuddered. Fenris realized he was weeping, muffling his sobs that Fenris not hear.

As he debated going to him, Anders spoke in a voice thick with tears. Fenris first thought he spoke to him. Then, he realized the words were directed elsewhere.

“I’ve never stopped believing in You. Even with all You allowed taken from me--my family, my home--I always had faith. What I lost, I counted as a fair trade, that I could use magic to heal, and help others.

“But there is _no_ recompense for what You’ve allowed to happen to him. There is _no_ trade of equal value for all that’s been stolen from him. You left him to suffer the tortures of a madman. A man who convinced him he loved his rapist. _Loved him!_ And, _You allowed_ this perversion to happen! 

“Look what’s been done to him... _to Your child._ Look on the scarring of his body... his mind... his heart.... Was no damage great enough, no pain deep enough, to move You? Was nothing he endured enough? _Where were You as he suffered?”_

Sobs overwhelmed him, once more. 

Fenris felt a strange ache in his chest. No one had ever wept for him. He was certain no one had called their god to task for his treatment. He quietly moved down the stairs to sit behind him; and wrap him in his arms. Anders tried to speak, struggling through his tears.

“I’m sorry, Fenris....”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not... it’s not... it’s not right....” Breathless sobs stole his speech.

Fenris had no experience comforting another. He simply held him. 

“You... shouldn’t have t-t-to... comfort me,” Anders struggled to say. “Y-y-you’re the one who suffered.”

“But, you’re the one who feels the pain of it. Always such empathy, always seeking to comfort.”

“I’m n-n-n-not very comforting, right now.”

“No? You weep for me. You rail at your god, on my behalf. Is that not comforting?”

Anders let himself weep. In time, he calmed, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks.

“It’s much too little, far too late.”

“It seems a great deal, to me. More than I’ve ever had.” He pressed a kiss into the tousled hair. “Come back to bed, Anders.”

Once again lying under the stars and moons, Fenris wasn’t sure who was comforting whom. Though he’d been upset by the resurgence and loss of memories, their power had been diminished. Witnessing Anders’ outpouring of pain somehow ameliorated his own.

He lay his head on Anders’ chest, feeling fingers card through his hair. 

“Don’t hide from me when you’re in pain,” he murmured.

“You nearly ran away, yourself,” Anders reminded him.

“I apologize. I was confused. I don’t know how to handle such feelings.”

“Talk to me. If you don’t want to talk, at least say so. I’ll respect your privacy, Fenris.”

“And, then hide from me, like tonight?”

“You wanted me to let it go. I couldn’t. I needed to... feel it.”

“I didn’t realize how badly it would affect you.”

“I don’t think _you_ realize how badly it has affected you, Fenris.”

“It was a duty to perform, nothing more.”

“They _hurt_ you.”

“I think you imagine me thrown down and brutally ravaged. That was rarely the case. Some were gentle. Most were somewhere between.”

“I don’t care if they gave you wine and roses; _it was wrong._ They used you, whether you wanted it, or not.”

Fenris sighed. 

“Of all the wrongs in my life, this was negligible.”

“It wasn’t--”

“Let me tell you of wrong, Anders. Many of Danarius’ ceremonies required secrecy, without the witness or assist of another mage. When it came time for the sacrifice--for invariably, there was one-- he could not be distracted. Normally, Hadriana fetched the victims, and subdued them. When he worked alone, it was I who performed this duty.”

“Oh, Maker... no.” 

“Some submitted meekly. Others begged. A few fought. Children cried when I came for them. I dragged them to the altar, and held them down as he made the cut.”

Anders wept once more; silent sobs shook his chest, as hot tears wet his hair.

“Anders... I did not intend to upset you. I meant for you to understand why dallying on satin sheets was not the horror you imagine. I was party to much worse.”

Holding Anders as his tears dried, he was again amazed at the empathy this man possessed.

“Fenris... I’m so sorry I compared your slavery to my time in the Circle.”

“Don’t do that. We have both suffered. It is not a contest of who bears the most scars.”

“You may have endured worse than rape, but it was sex that brought forth the memories. I can’t let you go through that, again.”

Fenris chuckled. “Are you going to make my decisions for me, Anders?”

“I... no. I’m not. But, what if it happens, again?”

“Then, it happens. What I experienced with Danarius and the others... it couldn’t be more different than what I’ve shared with you. Perhaps it bore enough similarity to spawn the memories. But, be assured, it wasn’t the same. And I have every intention of repeating tonight’s pleasure, again. And again. And again. Though, of course, it does depend on your participation.”

Anders thought long before speaking.

“Alright. Only you can decide what’s best for you.”

As they lay together, looking up at the stars, Fenris felt something shift within him. As though his chest had been constricted; but now he could breathe, just a little easier.

For such a small change, it was remarkably liberating.


	21. Spectrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tries to work through the pain he feels on Fenris' behalf.

Anders was in torment.

His heart broke, mended, and broke again in an unending cycle. Worse, the breaking was interspersed with memories of exquisite pleasure; of intensely intimate passion. And before he could replay the pleasant memories to culmination, his mind drifted to the horrors Fenris described in such painfully pragmatic words.

He’d barely slept last night. He’d held Fenris until he drifted into the Fade, and then wept more silent tears. The sacrifices he’d been forced to participate in... the depredations upon his body... What further pain and degradation had he not yet divulged?

 _He hadn’t known._

When morning came, he’d kissed Fenris goodbye, and tried to live out his day as usual. He opened the clinic, and attended patients. He processed potions, and wrote in his journal. He even tried to eat, though it stuck in his throat like sand. 

Every time he learned something new about the elf’s past, it was worse than what he’d learned, before. And Fenris just kept it all tucked away, no hints of the pain within. Denying there was pain, at all. He’d asked Anders to let it go... to just forget about it. Then, proceeded to tell a more terrifying tale, so Anders could understand why what happened really wasn’t so bad. 

Was it any surprise Fenris didn’t want mages freed?

Images passed through his mind, creations of his own making. Pictures of Fenris, forced to participate in terrible acts. Assisting in the murder of innocents. Being whored-out by his master, to receive Maker-knew-what treatment. And what else had happened to him? How much did Fenris, himself, shrug off as simply _another duty?_ What else had he suffered, all the while being told it was a sacrifice of love. 

_Love._

He needed a drink. He needed _a lot_ of drinks. He needed to drown the pain, the memory of what he’d heard, and the visions with which his own mind tormented him _(Fenris’ face, sprayed with the blood of a sacrifice)._ He needed to still the confusion that spun through his mind. He felt Justice’s disapproval, and through sheer force of will, overruled the spirit. Dousing the clinic’s lantern in early afternoon, Anders made for the Hanged Man.

He found a table at the back, and started with ale. He loved ale. There’d been a time when he could outdrink most men in ale. It was so rare he had it, anymore, he was buzzing nicely after only a few mugs. Even so, it wasn’t enough. He waved down Norah and ordered the strongest drink they had. He needed to chase the images from his mind _(Fenris, thrown down and brutally ravaged)._ He had to forget what he’d heard; because it just hurt too damn much to remember.

It was strong, foul, and went down like fire. It brought forth the memory of a filthy dwarf with a deadly axe, who’d offered his own concoction. Only to be followed by the memory of waking naked in the Keep’s courtyard, his smalls flying from Andraste’s statue, and Wade tittering over his forge. Had there been a time when life was so simple? 

The bottle of rot-gut steadily emptied, and Anders began to float. 

The bottle slipped from his fingers, and he fumbled for it, before realizing it had been taken from his hand.

“So... Justice let you out to play, did he?” Isabela asked, taking a hefty drink of his swill. “I’ve never seen you drunk.”

“I’m not _playing._ And I’m not nearly drunk enough,” he said, taking the bottle back.

“Lovers’ spat?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong, Anders? Spirit low?” Cackling at her own wit, she sat opposite him, and signaled the barmaid.

“Just... leave me alone.”

“Haven’t you heard? Misery loves company. You’re miserable, and I’m company. Come on then, tell us all about it.”

“No.” He tilted back the bottle, felt it burn another layer from his throat. 

“Ohh, a guessing game! Let’s see... you’re broken-hearted because a certain tattoo’d elf spurned you.”

“No.”

“He _didn’t_ spurn you? Varric owes me a sovereign. So, how was it?”

He was slowly moving past buzz, and into drunk. He had a hard time keeping up with Isabela’s rapid repartee.

“How was what?”

She grimaced. “Ouch... can’t have been much good if you don’t even remember it. Want some tips?”

“What I want... _is_... to be left alone.”

“I get the appeal. The smoldering anger... the mystery... that voice... those gauntlets. But, he’s not really the type for a relationship. You need someone less intense. Someone willing to take their time. You know, break you in slowly.”

_“Break me in?”_

“Sweet thing, I can smell purity a league away. Trust me, you don’t want Fenris plucking your flower.”

He choked on his drink, coughing until tears flowed. When he’d caught his breath, he sputtered a reply.

“You... have _no_ idea what you’re talking about! And Fenris... we haven’t... _argh!!”_

“Ohhhhh... so _that’s_ what’s got you down.”

He dropped his head to the table, and felt the world spin around him.

“Please... _please_... just leave me alone.”

“I don’t think I should leave you alone, in this condition. Someone might take advantage of you.”

Varric’s voice cut in. “Rivaini, you’re the one most likely to take advantage of someone in this condition.”

He rolled his head, since lifting it seemed like too much effort. Varric was swinging his leg over the bench beside Isabela.

“Blondie, you look like shit.” 

He closed his eyes, hoping against hope the topic of his ‘flower’ wouldn’t come up, again.

“He’s mooning after Fenris, near as I can tell.”

“Really? I thought that ship had docked.”

“Apparently not.” Isabela gasped, suddenly. “There’s that little shit who still owes me. Varric, hold my drink.” 

“Famous last words. So, Blondie... trouble in paradise?” 

Anders reached for his bottle, and found it empty. He’d just managed to sit up and signal the barmaid, when Varric reached into his coat and pulled out a flask.

“Take mine. Stuff here’ll rot your gut.”

Anders held the flask with both hands. It was booze, and that was all he cared..

“You and Broody... there’s bound to be bumps in the road.”

“We’re... we’re not... _bumping....”_

“Is that the problem?”

“There’s no bumps!” Varric’s swill was better than the last. He was numbing up, nicely.

“What’s bothering you, then?”

“He... he’s....” Suddenly, he was sobbing. “He’s _hurting,_ Varric. He... he....” Anders gave up, put his head on his arms, and quietly, drunkenly, wept.

Varric didn’t speak again until he’d cried himself out, and lifted the flask once more.

“Yeah. That elf’s got enough shit in his past to fertilize the Free Marches. Doesn’t take a genius to see it.”

“But, I _didn’t_ see it. I... just... didn’t _see_ it! I should have _seen_ it! I should have fucking _seen_ it!” 

“Don’t knock yourself. He’s a tough nut to crack, you know that. No one’s gonna see what he doesn’t want them to.”

“You... you... don’t know. You don’t _know._ They _hurt_ him. Those bastards... they... they....”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Blondie. You don’t want to tell me whatever he told you. Frankly, if it’s about his time as a slave, I probably don’t want to know. Shouldn’t Justice be putting the breaks on your boozing, by now?”

“He’s not the... boss of me.” Varric’s flask was getting low. “He... we... Justice and me... want to... free the mages. But... look what free mages _do!_ How can we? How can... _look what they do!”_

“Damn, this isn’t just a heartbroken blinder. You’re calling your whole life into question. Well, you’re not gonna find the answer at the bottom of a bottle.”

“I’m not looking for answers. I’m looking for... for... I forget.” He emptied the flask, and reached for the mug in front of Varric.

His vision was starting to blur, but he recognized Isabela when she came back to the table. 

“What’d I miss? And, where’s my drink?”

“Blondie just appropriated it. He’s sliding _all_ the way down this hill.”

“Anders... sweet thing... listen. I’ve been through it all. I can tell you, it always works out, in the end. Remember, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”

He finished off the mug, and slammed it on the table.

“Tha’s where yer wrong! Wha’ doesn’t kill you, _bloody well hurts!”_

“Much as I can’t argue with that, maybe you’ve had enough, Blondie. It’s been a while since you drank--”

“I’ll stop when ‘m damn good’n ready! Norah! ‘Nuther roun’!”

Time began to blur, along with his vision. His thoughts became washed and distorted. He had a vague notion of helping Fenris. He had no idea why, or how, but something was going to hurt the elf, and he had to drink to save him. 

Voices spoke to him. He answered with a thick, uncooperative tongue. The room began to spin, so he lay his head on the sticky table, grasping at the edges to stay in place. 

What _was_ that filthy dwarf’s name?

 _“Fasta vass..._ he’s drunk?”

The most beautiful voice in all of Thedas. He lifted his head to look on the most beautiful face, as well. Cold gauntlets cupped his face and held his wavering head still.

“Anders?”

“Oghren... tha’s it....” 

“I didn’t think he drank....”

“First I’ve seen of it,” Varric’s voice answered. “And, he’s going at it like a pro.”

_“... tue was ich will.”_

_“What?”_

“Yeah, I think he’s been throwing some Ander at us. I thought he was Fereldan.” 

Fenris squatted, still cupping his face. Even through blurred vision, he was beautiful... so beautiful.

“His parents are Ander. Mage, what’s wrong?”

_“... ficken schwanze....”_

“I think I know that one,” Isabela said. “Something about fucking.”

“Rivaini, you’re a wonder.”

“Sex is the universal language, Varric.”

“And, here I thought it was Trade."

“Quiet,” Fenris growled. “This isn’t like him.”

More words... more voices... the spinning room made him queasy. The cupping hands patted his face.

“Anders... talk to me.”

He wanted to talk to him. He had so much to say. Instead, when he opened his mouth to speak, vomit spewed forth. A day’s worth of drinking propelled from his gut. Again... and again. Until blessed darkness claimed him.

\---------------

Piercing light bored bored through his eyeballs, and into his brain. Rhythmic pounding jarred his skull. His guts were twisted, roiling like a boat in a storm. He groaned, grasping his head to keep it from splitting. 

He was dying.

It occurred to him he actually had the means to fix this. Blue light blinded him briefly, and then blessed, blessed relief.

“Take it you’re awake?”

Varric’s voice, in his ear, very close.

He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at a strange ceiling. No, not so strange; it was Varric’s room at the tavern. How had he gotten here? He turned his head, and found he was lying in Varric’s bed, with Varric, himself. Neither of them seemed to be wearing clothes. The implication staggered him.

“Oh... Maker... tell me we didn’t....”

Varric’s eyes widened in surprise; then he broke out in hearty laughter.

“Andraste’s tits, Blondie! What all do you remember?”

He forced his memory to give up its secrets. Very little came through. Drinking... a lot. Talking... a lot. Varric. Isabela. A lot of blurred images and voices.

“Not much. What happened?”

“The short version? You had an existential crisis, went on a blinder, puked all over Broody, and passed out. He couldn’t carry you home, so he left you in my care. You two really need to learn to moderate.”

Fenris. _Fenris._ He’d gotten drunk to forget the elf’s pain. To forget an entire country of evil mages. And Fenris had found him that way? What had he said? What had he _done?_ Puked on him, apparently.

He groaned in misery, pulled the pillow around his head, and kicked his feet like a toddler in a tantrum.

Varric chuckled. “We’re talking about a professional-level upchuck, too. Nailed him right in the forehead. Rivaini laughed herself off her seat. You two planning on more of these drunken escapades? I’ll get a second bed, if that’s the case.”

“I need to find him.” He threw back the covers to reveal he wore nothing but his smallclothes. 

“You were covered, too. He took your clothes to wash. He’ll bring them back this morning.”

“He doesn’t even do his own laundry.”

“Who knew he was such a softie, under all that prickly armor?”

“I did.”’

“Yeah, I got that impression.”

Dread filled him. Just what had he said, last night?

“Varric... tell me I didn’t talk about... Fenris.”

“I could, but I’d be lying.”

He put the pillow over his head, and kicked his legs, again... it was surprisingly therapeutic. No wonder toddlers did it.

“If it makes you feel any better, a fair portion was in Ander, anyway.”

“I barely remember any Ander.”

“What can I say? You’re a drunken savant. Don’t hurt yourself, Blondie. You just went on about how he’s the best friend you ever had, how no one understands him, and how you’re going to save him. Damned decent of you, really.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Did I say _how_ I was going to save him?” 

Varric rolled out of bed, clad in his trousers, and began dressing. “Not that I caught. I’ve got people to meet this morning, but you’re welcome to cool your heels until Broody shows up. Unless, you’d rather walk back to Darktown in your smalls.”

After Varric left, Anders lay in the dwarf’s bed, trying to remember the night before. Why, oh why, had he thought drinking would make anything better? Unbidden, he felt self-righteous satisfaction well-up. Justice.

“Oh, shut up.”

“That directed at me?”

Fenris came around the alcove’s wall, a bundle in his arms. Anders’ chest filled with more feelings than he could identify.

“Fenris....” he had no idea what to say.

“Can I assume you’ve healed your hangover?”

“I... yes.”

The bundle was tossed into his lap. “Good. Get dressed, and join me at the table.”

His clothing was freshly laundered and dried, right down to the feathered pauldrons. He dressed, and made his way to Varric’s table. Fenris was setting out fresh, soft bread, and a steaming pot of spiced cider. 

“I thought you could use a little comfort, this morning,” the elf explained. 

He turned Anders’ palm up, and dropped the lightning glass pedant in his hand. It was now strung on a silver chain.

“The leather cord was a loss,” Fenris explained.

Anders held the chain, noting it was both sturdy, and expensive.

“You shouldn’t have,” he murmured.

When Fenris took it from him, and draped it around his neck, his eye was caught by a white wrapping around the elf’s wrist. He touched it.

“This....” he began.

“Was yours, yes. Now, it’s mine.”

He wrapped his hand around it. He liked it there. 

Fenris said simply, “It... keeps you close.”

Anders picked up the lightning glass hanging on its new chain. “This does the same.”

Eyes meeting over soft smiles, Fenris leaned in for a warm, lingering kiss.

Anders pulled away, clearing his throat. “I probably taste like vomit and rot-gut.”

“Worse. Sit down and eat.”

They ate in companionable silence. The cider was the perfect anodyne to his chaotic mind. Fenris waited until they’d finished before speaking.

“Last night... was about what you’d learned of my past, was it not?”

“Partly. Mostly.”

Fenris sighed. “I had no intention of causing you pain. What can I do to make this easier for you?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “You can stop trying to make me feel better. You’re the one who was wronged.”

“Then leave it to me to feel the pain of it. Seeing you in such distress... it’s difficult, Anders.”

He was right. It was hardly fair for Anders to add salt to his wounds, with his own tears. And the last thing he wanted was to make Fenris leery of confiding in him.

“You’re right. I’ll... try to let it go.”

“You said my past was part of last night. What was the rest?”

He buried his head in his hands, groaning. “It used to be so simple, Fenris. Mages should be free. Cut and dried. But now... I don’t know. It’s as though all this time, I’ve just been paying your slavery lip-service. Hearing the details of your life... how can I wish that on the entirety of Thedas? And yet... how can I turn my back on the suffering of mages in the Circles? I _can’t_ turn my back, Fenris.”

“Anders... it was _never_ simple.”

“No?”

“You and I have stood on opposite sides of the same line, dividing black and white. Now we realize it’s not a line that stood between us, at all, but a vast expanse of grey.”

Anders nodded. “So what do I do, now?”

The spiky pauldrons shrugged. “Whatever your conscience tells you.”

“I’ve got a stowaway in my conscience, who sees only black and white; never grey.”

“And, how are the two of you?”

He shrugged. “The same, I guess.”

“Truly? I was under the impression it didn’t allow you to get drunk. What I wore home last night proves otherwise.”

“I am _so sorry_ about that.”

“Not as sorry as I was. Regardless, the spirit clearly did not have the upper hand, yesterday.”

Anders considered the implication. He’d controlled Justice’s impulse. He’d felt the spirit’s compulsion to dissuade him from drinking, and with very little effort, had successfully overruled it. Was it possible his relationship with Justice, in some small way, was equalizing? 

Fenris watched him, his little half-smile on his lips. Those lips. That man. How could he smile at him, after he’d showered him in vomit the night before? How could he have laundered his clothing, purchased an expensive chain, and brought him spiced cider the next day? 

“You’re amazing, Fenris.”

“If you think so, I am pleased.”

“You are. I don’t deserve a friend like you.”

The half smile grew. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“I really am sorry for throwing up all over you. Varric said it was pretty bad.”

“I’ve endured worse; but yes... it was bad. Might I suggest moderation, next time?”

“From what Varric said, I was so far gone I lapsed into Ander. I barely remember any.”

“You mumbled something repeatedly, as I undressed you. What does it mean... eesh leeba deesh?”

Anders schooled his expression. “No idea.”

Fenris looked at him, searching. Finally, he nodded  
.  
“Hm. Well, are you heading to the clinic?”

“I probably should. I closed early yesterday. See you tonight?”

“Yes. My place.”

As they shared a lingering kiss, and separated at the door, his mind replayed the words Fenris had recited. He’d lied. He knew exactly what those words meant. He’d not spoken them, in Ander nor Trade, since he’d left home. No mage he knew had ever dared speak them. 

_Ich liebe dich..._ I love you.

It was ingrained in his psyche; don’t think it, don’t say it. Yet, hearing Fenris haltingly recite the words... he could no longer deny it. Anders loved him, plain and simple; no grey areas involved. Yet, those were words he could not say to the elf.

Because, in Fenris’ experience, love equated to pain and degradation. They were words he had been compelled to recite, to legitimize Danarius’ abuse. Words that meant submission and sacrifice to a master. Regardless of the love Anders felt, he would never utter those words to Fenris, as long as he lived. 

\----------------------------------

He stood in the midst of a winter wonderland, the likes of which he’d not seen since his childhood. Snowdrifts flowed into hills and summits; ice stood in graceful formations; lazily drifting snowflakes caught in his hair and pauldrons. It was beautiful. 

Fenris stood on the far side of the ballroom, shaping an ice spire as it grew from the blanketing snow. He had a true affinity for his ice magic, and Anders fostered it in their training. It was good for any mage to have a form of magic which gave them joy. So often, the rampant hate and distrust for mages could be debilitating. It helped to have a magic form which balanced such darkness with light. 

Although he’d decided to utilize his magic to increase the odds of defeating Danarius, Fenris was still reluctant to embrace it, entirely. He’d never truly stopped struggling with the fact he was a mage. That he was training to be as lethal as possible with magic, didn’t help. When Anders sensed darkness edging into Fenris’ heart, he led another lesson in controlling ice magic. 

It was a legitimate exercise; honing his skill in creating the many forms ice could take. Lately, he’d guided Fenris in shaping the ice formations as they grew. It wasn’t taxing, yet it required concentration and imagination. Fenris excelled at this activity, and the act of creation seemed to make him happy. 

The spire he was working on combined a harsh, brutish quality with undeniable grace; like something so alien, it had no comparison in this world.

“Is this an original, or are you recreating something?” he asked.

“It’s an ancient ruin on the Silent Plain. I doubt it had any historical significance, but I found it compelling.”

Anders circled the spire. Something about it was disquieting, like the formations in the Fade. 

“It makes me uneasy.”

Fenris chuckled. “Me, as well. That’s why I like it. What are you working on?”

“A picken.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Part pig, part chicken. Ham and eggs, in one hideously delicious creature.”

“Of course.”

While Fenris used his magic to form ice sculptures, Anders hand-built with snow, using gloves and a wooden snow-knife. The two men would while away hours in the snow and ice-filled ballroom. Although the snow was magical, it was just as cold as the real thing. Fenris’ bare feet suffered.

After healing frostbite on his toes and soles several times, Anders brought a pair of wool-lined slippers for Fenris to wear, though he nearly had to sit on the elf to get them on him.

“Don’t be such a baby,” he grunted, working a slipper over Fenris’ squirming foot. “You’re going to damage a nerve, standing barefoot in ice.”

“You can heal them... I can’t feel where I’m walking with these on.”

“You can’t feel where you’re walking when they’re numb, either. Magic can only heal so much... freeze a nerve hard enough or often enough, it’s not coming back.” Fenris jerked his foot. “Come on, already... you don’t hear me bitching about wearing gloves.”

“I hear you bitch about a great many other things.”

The first time Fenris wore them, Anders had been hard-put not to laugh. The elf’s long legs took high, exaggerated steps, looking like a cat in a puddle. It had been utterly adorable, more-so for the way Fenris scowled down at the offending shoes. 

Hours later though, he’d sighed. “Fine. They keep my feet warm. But, I don’t know how you can stand wearing shoes all the time.”

“It’s a hardship.”

The snow and ice Fenris created didn’t melt into water; rather, it slowly dissipated. Or, casting dispel would clear it, immediately. As the last autumn days gave a final blast of heat to the city, their snow-days were more frequent. Usually, in the hottest part of the evening, they’d then go up on the roof to watch the stars. With luck, the breeze might cool them.

“I wish we dared have some ice up here,” Anders sighed. They lay on the roof cushions, stripped to smalls and Fenris’ short pants, panting in the night’s heat.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“You iced the whole roof when... well. Your magic slipped loose in the moment, as it were.”

“Will that happen, every time?”

Anders chuckled. “Often, yes. For a while. How do you think templars knew to look for romping apprentices? If smoke or lighting shot out from a closet or bookcase, everyone knew what was going on. It can even happen to seasoned mages, if sufficiently incited.”

With a smirk, Fenris pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Gives me a goal to reach,” he murmured, and kissed him again.

In the weeks since Fenris revealed his past, Anders had tried to let it go. It wasn’t easy. It was hard to relax, and let pleasure take its natural course. He was sure Fenris noticed, but neither mentioned it. They let things... settle, he supposed. With many nights of simple embraces, and gentle kisses, Anders relaxed. And as he relaxed, he realized Fenris was also relaxed. Well... perhaps that wasn’t quite the right word.

Fenris was eager. He’d obviously meant it when he said he had every intention of exploring pleasure with him. As weeks passed, and Anders again let himself enjoy what the elf offered, Fenris grew more intense in his affections. Deep, long, searching kisses. Hands confidently exploring skin left bare by Anders’ smallclothes. Hard flesh pressed against him through his short pants. Even his gasps and moans were more intense, the sounds alone making Anders’ insides melt into want.

He wondered how Fenris could find pleasure in their activities, given his past. Anders had learned about such abuse, not only by living in a Circle, but in training as a healer. People who’d been hurt by sex, often could not enjoy sex. Fenris insisted he hadn’t been raped; insisted it had been no different than any other duty. Perhaps, to a man who’d been forced to carry children to their slaughter, it was simply not worthy of note. Perhaps his pain was so deeply buried, he was unable to feel it. Perhaps he sought to replace his past with his present, and it wasn’t fair for Anders to question his desire. It was Fenris’ history, after all. He should address it when, and how, he chose.

The night was sultry and quiet... too hot for the usual unlawful shenanigans to carry-on in the city. In the darkness, only the sound of breathing, of lips meeting and parting, could be heard. Fenris had his arm about Anders’ hips, pulling him close, his erection making itself clearly known. His other hand stroked into his hair, cradling his head. He always held Anders with such care. 

As they kissed, Anders became aware of warm wetness on his abdomen, and slid his hand down to investigate. The elf’s low-slung shorts had shifted, allowing his weeping erection to peek above the waistband. Anders grinned, and stroked the fullness he encountered.

Fenris jolted, gasping. 

“This alright?” he whispered.

 _“Venhedis,_ yes.”

The angle was awkward, but Fenris wasn’t complaining. Anders nudged him onto his back, slid down his waistband, and took him in hand. He’d never actually seen Fenris’ naked cock in a state of arousal. He was hairless, as most elves were, which added an elegance to his slender length. His dusky skin set off the graceful line of lyrium twining about his shaft. He twitched almost violently as Anders lightly ran his hand down his length. 

“Maker, Fenris... you’re gorgeous. 

“Th-thank you,” he replied breathlessly.

He experimented, learning what best pleasured the elf; from his reactions, it was all pleasing. Fenris writhed at his touch, twitching, gasping and moaning. So much intensity in his reaction. Was it the lyrium marking? Was is simply he was intense in all he did? 

Watching him, seeing his face awash with pleasure, was nearly as arousing for Anders as being touched. With a simple spell, his palm was coated with grease. Fenris bucked into his fist with a surprised grunt. 

Anders had already been hard; now, he could cut stone. He took Fenris’ lips in a kiss, the elf’s moans muffled as he continued stroking his greased hand along his cock, root to tip. 

Fenris dove into the kiss with familiar intensity. They found a rhythm together, and as Fenris began thrusting in earnest, Anders did, as well; hips meeting nothing, but unable to resist the impulse. 

He loved this. So far, it had been the elf to lead their pleasure. He was delighted to give Fenris the same in return, even in such a simple way. And, simple though it was, it was effective. The elf’s moans amplified as his peak approached. Skin damp with sweat, eyes squeezed tight, Fenris’ fingers clawed into the cushions below them.

Snowflakes drifted around them; falling over them, the bedding and surrounding rooftop. Within moments, he arched into climax, voice choked-off. Anders watched with awe. He was stunning in his silent rapture; erotic... arousing.

Anders released his softening flesh, and pulled the gasping elf into his arms. 

“Were there memories?” he whispered.

Fenris shook his head, gulping air. Anders silently rejoiced, kissing any part of the elf’s head, hair, or neck he could reach. As Fenris pressed closer, Anders groaned... he was still entirely, and acutely, aroused. Fenris noticed, his hand cupping him firmly through his smalls.

“Maker,” Anders gasped. 

A chuckle vibrated against his neck. _“Not_ the Maker,” Fenris said. 

Without another word, he was moving, sliding down his body, and pulling off his smalls. With silent appraisal, he examined Anders’ weeping cock. He felt himself flush. He realized Fenris hadn’t actually seen _him_ naked in this state, either. Fair was fair, but the intense scrutiny was unnerving.

Gentle fingers traced down his length, and over his sack. He gasped, cock twitching at the contact.

“You are beautiful, Anders.”

“Am I?” he breathed.

“Yes. I’ve imagined touching you this way... tasting you. May I?”

“Maker, Fenris... anything you want!” 

This was something he’d never experienced. Some frotting and a few hand jobs, yes. But, oral pleasure....

He nearly howled. Warm, wet, suction enveloped him. His cock, neglected while he’d witnessed Fenris’ climax, felt everything with exquisite intensity. It was overwhelming... and so, so... _good._

Fenris knew what he was doing. For the briefest second, Anders felt a rush of dismay, knowing why he knew. Then, he recalled Fenris’ words. He wanted to do this... he’d ached to do this. And oh, Maker. Anders was feeling things he’d only imagined. 

Fenris sucked him deep, tongue painting him, then withdrew, to suckle on the swollen head. That was nearly his undoing, before he was swallowed again. Like his kiss, Fenris’ entire body seemed involved in this act. He found hidden pleasures on Anders’ cock he’d never even discovered, himself. He tantalized the foreskin, the slit, the ridge of his glans. He used teeth in a way Anders would never imagine. He sucked, and licked, and nibbled, and kissed.

“Fenris... I’m close... Maker....”

And, with a tight circling of the elf’s fingers... he wasn’t anymore. He backed from the edge, and Fenris began again. 

Fingers tweaked and caressed his nipples, lightly scored his belly, fondled his scrotum. Mouth moved from cock, to inner thighs, to the flesh behind his balls. Even toes were in play, drawing along the bottoms of his feet. He was stimulated everywhere... and it all coalesced in his groin. 

His cock swelled thicker and harder, juices dripping on his stomach, or slurped into Fenris’ mouth. Anders lay spread-eagle, bedding fisted in his hands as he trembled. It was a pleasure beyond his reckoning. A pleasure almost painful.

Fenris pulled him into his mouth, again; past his lips and tongue, and into his very throat. 

_“Hnnnngggggg!_ Fenris.... Fenris.... I can’t take much more.”

“Mmmmmm,” was the reply, vibrating up his shaft. 

Anders tried to control himself, but his hips thrust of their own accord. He was helpless under Fenris’ attentions, body alive in a way it had never been, before. He could feel his balls pull tight... could feel his cock swell. He was nearing his peak, voice harsh as it called out. 

_“Fen... Fen... FENRIS! GAHHHHHHH!”_

Intense pleasure pulsed through him. His spend, hot and copious, was swallowed eagerly. As his flesh slipped from Fenris’ lips, Anders lay twitching; gasping for breath, pleasure singing through his body.

Distantly, he felt Fenris slide against him, holding him. It was all he could do to flop an arm about him, so flattened by his climax, was he.

Finally, he was able to think, and move, again. Eyelids peeling open, he found Fenris looking at him with a cat-in-the-cream smirk.

“You look exceedingly pleased with yourself,” he murmured.

“That was enjoyable,” Fenris said.

Anders chuckled. “You have no idea. One day, I’m going to do the same to you.”

Fenris smirked. “I look forward to it.”

He burrowed against him. It was hot, and they were sweaty, but Anders couldn’t possibly care less. He’d heard all sorts of talk about the wonders of oral sex; he’d read erotica, overheard fellow apprentices, received detailed descriptions from brothel-workers. None did it any justice. He huffed at his unintended play on words. 

“Something funny?” Fenris murmured.

“Just my naïveté’.”

“Referring to sex, or in general?”

“Sex, I’ll admit to, but I’m not generally naive.”

“You think I refer to ignorance. It has other meanings. Such as, you are unaffected in your manner; and direct in expressing yourself.”

Anders considered. “Well, that sounds much nicer. Actually, it pretty much describes, you, too.”

“I am _not_ naive.”

Anders chuckled. Fenris’ lips twitched, then he pulled Anders into a long, deep kiss. Oh... pleasure and joy shared with this elf was unmatched.

“You make me very happy, Fenris.”

“You make me happy, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief lesson in Ander (based on the surmise the Anderfels is a German equivalent):
> 
> tue was ich will = (I) do what I want
> 
> ficken schwanze = fucking pricks
> 
> ich liebe dich = I love you


	22. Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris have a calmer discussion about Fenris' past.
> 
> A letter arrives for Anders.

By late fall, the weather had cooled, and rainfall quenched the land. Losing their rooftop refuge was saddening, but Fenris’ bed was more than adequate. The stars shone through the skylight, plus they were closer to the loo. As it happened, Anders spent nearly every night in the elf’s bed. 

Hawke had given Anders the key to the Darktown entrance into her cellars. Worried for his safety while traveling through the Undercity and up into Hightown so often, she’d suggested he simply use her estate as a shortcut. Although Anders had been reluctant to impose upon her, Fenris added his encouragement. Anders could take care of any trouble he met, but there was no need to call attention to himself with frequent, after-dark, travels through the city.

Fenris wasn’t sure if Hawke knew they were intimate, especially given Anders’ vehement denial at the cove. It was possible she assumed they were training, or simply visiting, when at his mansion. They did work with magic a great deal; though until he could be re-trained as an Arcane Warrior, it was mostly repetitive work. Anders insisted he become as familiar with spell-casting as he was with swordplay.

“You need to be just as quick and efficient with magic as you are with your blade. Hone your magical reflex, learn to focus your energy without hesitation. Badly cast spells can cause mayhem. So, even the simplest ones... do them over and over, until they’re instinctive.”

Fenris saw the wisdom in his advice, and knew the extraordinary focus and control Anders possessed. So, even when the mage wasn’t with him for practice, he cast his spells. The ones he could, at least. He had to take care not to blow out a window, boarded or not. And, in cooler weather, ice had it’s complications.

“If I work with ice magic, it sits in the ballroom for hours before it dissipates. It makes the whole house cold. Can you not teach me to dispel magic?”

“You said Tevinter doesn’t use dispelling magic. Odds are, you’ve never learned it, which means it could take many months or more to do reliably. And trust me, you want to be reliable with these types of spells. They can do the damnedest things when they go awry. But, we can start on it.” 

Fenris frowned. "If Danarius made the collar, he will be able to drain my mana in battle, will he not?"

"Not necessarily. Creating a magical item is a different sort of application. He may not know the casting spell to drain mana. And, if I recall, Arcane Warrior magic includes an interesting shield.” 

Fenris nodded. “One thing we can likely count on, is any mages accompanying him will not be prepared to face mana drain, nor know how to perform it.”

“That'll come in handy.”

While they ate supper, memories of Tevinter flitted in and out of his mind. Simply the flotsam and jetsam of everyday activities; the warm climate, more than anything. Anders found Kirkwall winters mild, having known seasonal snow in his youth. To Fenris, winters in the Free Marches were chilly. He looked at the mage, and smirked. Sharing a bed and pleasures with Anders had made for a much warmer cold season.

Anders seemed lost in thought, as well. Fenris used his distraction to put another ladle of stew in his bowl. Anders rarely stopped for lunch while working. Fenris ensured he had enough when they ate together. Still lost in fault, Anders continued eating into his refreshed supply.

They’d come to share an enjoyable domesticity. Anders hadn’t officially moved in, despite the frequency of his visits. His belongings were kept at the clinic, and he occasionally slept there. But, most nights, they shared a meal and a bed. 

It was easy to be with Anders. Whether they talked, or sat quietly before the fire, it was comfortable. He’d hunted through the mansion for seating to replace the hard, backless bench in front of the hearth. A large settee, not too moth-eaten, now sat before the fire. Sprawled across the faded cushions, they enjoyed warmth and companionship.

And, while sitting, lying, reading, or talking, his eyes were repeatedly drawn to Anders. Appearance seldom played a role in Fenris’ assessment of others. But, the longer he knew the mage, the more apparent his uncommon beauty was. It was hard not to stare. 

His fine, burnished gold hair was often a fly-away mess, escaping it’s restraining band. Fenris admired the way firelight turned it into a coppery-gold nimbus. His warm, amber eyes were bright with intelligence, and soft with affection. His graceful hands, often ink-stained, unhesitatingly reached for him; to hold, caress, or comfort. His broad shoulders, and long limbs were exceptional for cuddling. And yes... Fenris cuddled. He wouldn’t admit it, but he did it. He’d had no idea the bliss an extended embrace could impart.

But, of all the wonders of Anders, it was his mouth that truly captivated Fenris. His upper lip in particular, was a near obsession.

For years, Fenris had believed Anders affected a pout; an expression of petulance at his ravings being ignored. Of course, he knew better, now. He also realized Anders’ pout was simply the effect of a full lower lip. As enticing as it was, it was the double curve of his upper lip that drew Fenris’ attention. Tender, vulnerable... he couldn’t resist it. Anders willingly submitted to his scrutiny of that lip; tracing it with his finger... nibbling it... stroking his tongue along it. The sensitive flesh occupied a ridiculous amount of his thoughts.

Anders’ soft voice interrupted his musing. 

“You’re staring, again.”

He sighed, lips curling in amusement. 

“You are worth staring at.”

With an answering smile, Anders replied, “When you’re ready to do more than look, let me know.”

Oh... he would. It was seldom their nights didn’t begin, and end, with amorous activity. Often in between, as well, waking in the darkest hours for more. He continued to be amazed at the pleasure Anders coaxed from his body. Even without experience on his side, he was eager, quick to learn, and fully focused on Fenris’ pleasure. 

They had yet to explore more penetrative activities, though the omission hardly put a damper on their intimacy. He knew how difficult it had been for Anders to overcome Fenris’ past. His binge of excessive drinking had been eye-opening for them both. As badly as he’d felt for Anders’ pain, his drunken escapade had revealed two important details. 

One: they’d discovered he could overcome Justice’s will. How often, or easily, he might continue to do so, was anyone’s guess. That he had at all, was encouraging. 

Two: Anders’ eyes had been opened. He saw, and understood, Fenris’ concerns regarding free mages. He’d heard the elf speak of such things, before. But, the brutal truth had finally hit home. 

Both men had crossed into the wide, grey swath that had stood between them for so long. They weren’t necessarily of one accord as far as mage freedom. Anders wanted mages free, Fenris wanted mages monitored. But, both were in equal agreement on one count: the Circles could not continue as they were.

Anders chewed his lower lip, frowning at the flames in the hearth.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Fenris asked.

“Sex.”

Fenris smirked. “That’s promising. Any particular aspect?”

“Well... I want to ask you your preferences, but...given your past... is that alright to ask? I mean, it’s not... _none_ of it was your preference.... I don’t know how to talk to you about this.”

Fenris smiled. He was reminded of Anders confessing his inexperience, at the cove. “You can ask me anything you like. Have you ever known me to answer a question I didn’t care to?”

Anders frowned into the fire, clearly no more at ease. Fenris chuckled.

“Allow me to begin, and you jump in when you’re comfortable. I have no race or gender preference. Until you, I had no desire at all for a partner.”

“Not even before you... _served_ them?”

“I'd always served Danarius in that way. His needs were simple and quick. That’s all I knew, prior to being trained for others.”

_“Trained?”_

“By an instructor of pleasure slaves. It was a cursory education, but I didn’t need more than that. My main attraction was the lyrium markings.”

_“Andraste’s mercy....”_

“Don’t work yourself up, Anders. The training had several benefits. Learning to prevent unnecessary discomfort, among them.”

Anders dropped his face in his hands.

“We can stop this discussion, if it’s too much for you.”

“Why isn’t it too much for _you?_ How can you be so blasé about it?”

Fenris cupped Anders' face in his hands, meeting his sad eyes. Such pain this man carried for others. 

“I need you to understand something. At the time, yes... it was merely a duty to perform. But, when I look back now, I see the gross depravity. I feel filthy from their touch, and the knowledge I took any pleasure in it. Believe me, Anders... I’m not content with what happened.”

A single tear slid slowly down his cheek, for Fenris to thumb away.

“Fenris, I don’t mean to minimize your feelings about it. I’m just... I worry you somehow think what happened to you was acceptable. _And, it wasn’t._ It never will be.”

Fenris pressed a lingering kiss to the lips he adored. “We are very unlikely lovers. You did not have the experience you desired, and I had too many I did not. But, I think we actually complement one another.”

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm. You have no idea the surprise I feel, each time I gaze on you and feel desire. The shock at the pleasure you draw from me. The unexpected hunger I feel, when I touch you.”

Anders flushed, a coy smile on his lips. “I... think I have some idea.”

“I want you to ask any question, about anything. Some I may not answer. Some things... are too difficult, even for my own recollection.”

“You’re sure? I’ve heard you snap at others--”

“They are not you.”

Anders flushed again, his smile warm. “Alright. Well, as far as actual sex... I wonder if you would rather not... _receive..._ given your past. But... if you’ve never penetrated, and I’ve never--”

“I’ve penetrated many. I know to prepare you. I will enjoy doing so.” In fact, he’d imagined it, repeatedly, in the past several weeks.

He saw this surprised Anders. 

“You... penetrated _them?_ I assumed they’d be all magister-dominator, or something.”

“Make no mistake... there was no confusion as to who dominated whom. Yet, if they wished to be penetrated, I did so.”

“You really don’t have any preferences for a partner? I mean... besides me, of course.”

Fenris was relieved Anders was relaxing around this topic. It was odd to discuss his experiences so frankly. As when he’d bared his past before, it felt almost liberating. 

“Well... the dwarven men I served were uncomfortably endowed. They would not be my first choice.”

Anders snorted, startled, then covered his mouth. 

“Maker, Fenris... I’m sorry. I’m just... thinking of Varric.”

Fenris chuckled. “He’s had both of us in his bed after drunken nights, you realize.”

“Well, only in the literal sense. I’m surprised he’s never bragged about dwarven endowment the way he does his chest hair.”

“He avoids talk of intimacy.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I think whoever the real Bianca is, she’s got a hold on him, yet.”

“Likely. 

Anders hesitated. “So, when you pleasure yourself... what do you think about?”

“I don’t pleasure myself.”

He looked at him in shock. “Never?”

“Not in my memory.”

Anders grew thoughtful. “Sometimes, those who’ve been abused have trouble experiencing sexual pleasure.”

“Do I not experience pleasure with you?”

A flush again bloomed on his cheeks. “Yes. You definitely do.” He frowned again. “So... why don’t you? Pleasure yourself?”

He shrugged. “I have never felt the need.” 

“I don’t get it. Why would I be some sort of... I don’t know... _catalyst_ for your pleasure? What’s so special about me?”

Fenris trailed his fingers along his stubbled face, wondering how this brilliant, empathetic man could be so blind to his own qualities.

“What is so special about you? I don’t possess the words. You are a finer man than you will ever see, yourself. I am aware my past experience was... unconventional. Perhaps it is related, as you seem to think. I‘m also aware my general lack of interest in intimacy is unusual.”

“How do you mean?” 

“Even since I’ve been free, I’ve never felt the compulsion for things the rest of the populace craves: flirtation, romance, sex. It was simply unimportant, and somewhat bewildering. It’s not that you were a catalyst; I’d known you for years. Believe me, there was no underlying sexual tension.”

Anders laughed, and pecked a kiss to his lips. “For me either, trust me.”

“It wasn’t until after we grew closer, and became friends, that I felt attraction. You became necessary long before you became arousing.”

“Necessary. I like that.”

Fenris pulled him to straddle his legs, and indulged in a long, sweet kiss. He buried his face in the mop of golden hair, and inhaled him. _Very necessary._ Anders wasn’t through with his questions. 

“Have you had other friends you were close to?”

“There were Fog Warriors I came to know, but not as well. And Hawke, of course. She was the closest friend I’d ever had, before you.”

“And you didn’t feel attracted to Hawke? ‘Cause, she’s quite a woman.”

“No. Excluding you, the only arousal I’ve felt was induced by those I served. And, that was... not the same.”

“Because your body felt it, didn’t mean you wanted it. Being tickled makes you laugh, but it doesn’t mean you enjoy it.”

“I do know. Sometimes I relied upon it, to aide my performance. Prostate stimulation can be compelling, regardless of the situation.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’ve not experienced it? I rather assumed you’d explored yourself in minute detail.”

Anders laughed. “Oh, you know me so well. Yes, I’ve tried. Often and repeatedly. I can’t reach the blasted thing. I’ve examined dozens of prostates as a healer. They all stand right up and wave hello. Mine? Nooooooo. I even tried to reach it using a summer squash, once. Even with that, I only felt enough to know I _really_ want more. ”

_“A summer squash?”_

“A _yellow_ one, to be exact. Don’t laugh... dildos are expensive. The squash was free, just growing on a vine.”

“The spiny sea shell will be jealous to learn of this.”

They shared laughter, melding into a kiss. Fenris gazed at the smiling eyes of the resourceful mage in his arms. He truly was exceptional, in so many ways.

“It’s much easier to find on someone else.” He pulled him into another kiss. “I’d be happy to mount a search for yours.”

Anders moaned, and kissed him again. “Fenris... what if things we do remind you of _them?”_

“Then, they do. So far, such reminders have been few.”

He decided they’d spent enough time talking, and leaned forward to nibble on his delectable upper lip. Anders gave up his worry, and invested himself in the kiss. Fenris stood from the settee, lifting Anders with him. Once he’d made it to his bed, he lay them upon it, Anders’ legs still tight about his hips.

“Fenris....”

“Mm-hm.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“With pleasure.”

Undressing each other was a quick affair, both by now adept in the act. He so enjoyed Anders’ body. He also enjoyed how Anders treated his; with near reverence. As though the last thing he’d ever do, was hurt him. 

Despite their mercurial conversation, Anders was aroused, hard and thick. He stroked him lightly, delighting in the stuttering gasp he made. 

“My turn for questions, mage,” he whispered into his ear.

“Anything....” he moaned.

“In all your searches for that hidden pleasure, how did you prepare yourself?” His fingers slowly slid to Anders’ entrance, lightly tickling the sensitive skin. 

“I...um... I have a spell....”

Fenris paused, making Anders whine. He smirked, and resumed his teasing touch, circling the tight hole.

“What spell is that?”

“The one... I told you about... for easing childbirth....”

He chuckled. “And, constipation.”

“That too....”

“It does not ease you too greatly, does it?”

“Wha-- oh,” he chuckled. “No. I focus very carefully, to avoid a run to the loo.”

Fenris snorted. His clever, creative mage. 

Anders was growing impatient. “Maker’s ass, Fenris... I’m not getting any younger.”

“It’s not _the Maker’s_ ass, Anders, it’s _yours,_ and I will not rush this. Let’s see that spell.”

A brief flash of magic, and the puckered skin under his fingers was suddenly lubricated, and relaxed.

“If you feel any discomfort, tell me immediately.”

“Uh-huh....”

Fenris kissed him, teasing his lips with his tongue, as he teased his entrance with his fingers. He took his time, allowing Anders to grow accustomed to the new stimulation. By the time his first two fingers were within him, Anders was groaning into their kiss. At the first touch to his prostate, he gasped.

"That's it...." he breathed.

Fenris feathered his fingers over the slight bulge, warming him up slowly. Anders was quiet, seeming to assess the new feeling.

"I thought it would be... more intense. The way people talk about it, and all."

"Have patience," he murmured.

"Not my strongest point."

"Mmmm." 

He took his time, enjoying their slow exploration. Anders relaxed into it, and as the sensation grew, became more animated.

His neck arched, gasping. “Maker... oh, Maker... Fenris....”

“That alright?”

 _“Uunghhh..._ oh, Fenris... that’s good....”

“No pain?”

“Maker... no... no... no... no pain.... _hnnnggg.”_

“I take it you’re enjoying this?”

Anders huffed a half-laugh, half-groan of pleasure. “It’s so good... so good... oh, Maker, Fenris.... so much better than I expected....”

“Shall I continue, then?”

“Yes-yes-yes... more... _unghh.... unghh..._ fuck.... more... Fenris, more.”

Recalling long unused knowledge, he played Anders’ body with increasing intensity and varying technique. He responded with enthusiasm, tossing his head, calling out his pleasure. This was a very good first experience for him, and Fenris was proud to facilitate it. 

He watched with increasing ardor as Anders trembled and twitched. His cock, thicker and harder than he’d yet seen, dripped steadily, pooling on his belly. It was difficult for Fenris to ignore his own arousal, witnessing the display before him. With some reluctance, he altered his technique, to bring Anders to his peak; too much stimulation, too soon, could leave him tender. The response was impressive.

The room now echoed with Anders’ vocalizations; wild, wordless, breathless. His hips rocked as copious fluid leaked from his swollen cock. Fenris panted with him, intensely aroused by the spectacle. To his surprise, small flames flared in mid-air, and extinguished. All around them, spontaneous bursts of fire. Anders was excited enough, his magic was slipping free as he neared his peak.

_“FEN... F-FEN... F-F-F-FENRIS!”_

Anders’ orgasm was powerful and protracted, contractions in his body continuing after he’d spent himself across his torso. Fenris held him close, cock aching for release. As Anders relaxed, the mage became aware of his condition.

"Fenris..." he murmured, taking him in hand. That was all it took. Anders' fingers wrapped about his shaft, and with a shout, climax bowled through him. 

He lay panting against Anders, spots fading from his vision. He was pulled close, both of them hot, sticky, and gasping. 

“Are you alright?” he asked with some effort.

“Oh... sweet... Maker....” 

He chuckled weakly, returning the embrace. His lips were taken in a long, adoring kiss. 

“That was beyond anything I’d imagined,” Anders said, weakly.

“For myself, as well.” He felt a rumbling chuckle against his chest.

“I noticed. So, this is what my damned elusive prostate has been keeping from me,” Anders mused. 

Fenris chuckled. He’d be happy to search for any hidden pleasures Anders might have.

\------------------------------------

“Blondie, just fold already.”

“Why do you keep telling me that? You never say it to anyone else.”

Fenris thought he had a point. Merrill was much worse than Anders. Of course, she had Isabela whispering advice in her ear. 

“Because I actually feel bad taking your money. Cut your losses, eat for another day.”

Fenris knew he wouldn’t fold; the mage was a sucker for lost causes; the worse the odds, the better. Anders also knew full well, Fenris would provide his next meal.

The band of Misfits gathered in Varric’s suite this evening, except Hawke and Sebastian. They were involved in the Chantry celebration of First Day, and were due at any time. 

“Celebration, my arse,” Isabela said. “Have you seen how the Chantry celebrates?”

“Raise two coppers,” Anders said. “I hear you. It's definitely not the First Day I knew as a boy.”

"What was that like?" Fenris asked.

"Celebratory. A big sleigh-ride parade around the village, singing, drinking."

Isabela approved. _"That's_ a celebration."

“Hawke!” Varric greeted. “Good to see you! Pull up a chair. And, uh... you too, Choir Boy.”

Fenris wasn’t sure why Varric didn’t like Sebastian. He found the Brother kind and straightforward, even if a little heavy on Maker-talk. Hawke certainly seemed to like him. 

The group welcomed the pair, calling for drinks, and dealing them into the game. Hawke pulled an envelope from her pouch, and tossed it to Anders.

“Look what came today.”

Anders picked it up, eyes widening.

“Maker’s ass... it’s from Neria Surana.”

“Oh, what a pretty name,” Merrill said.

He peeled off the envelope, and glanced through the letter. 

Varric glanced at the envelope, and whistled.

“From the royal palace in Denerim?”

“Yeah... old friend of mine....” Seemingly satisfied, he put the letter back in the envelope, and pocketed it. 

“You can’t have read it so quickly,” Fenris muttered.

“I was just looking for anything about Justice, bounties, betrayal, and the like. So far, so good. We’ll read it together, later.”

When they read it, Neria wasted no time in pleasantries, as straight-forward and direct as he remembered.

_“Dear Anders,_

_“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you! No note, no nothing! And, what happened to Justice? We found Kristoff’s body, but no sign of you. Would it have killed you to tell me you were ALIVE? Of all the inconsiderate, ungrateful people I’ve met in my life.... Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I know your history of running. I just thought we were friends enough you’d at least say goodbye._

_“OK, that’s off my chest. I’m beyond relieved to know you’re alive and well. There are any number of rumors regarding what happened that day. We found a slaughter-field, but no sign of you. I’ve been worried Justice went full abomination, given the look of the dead._

_“Whatever may have led you to the Free Marches, you’ve found some staunch allies. The Captain of the Guard? The Champion of Kirkwall? Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven? Word around Court is, he’s a devilishly handsome womanizer. Not surprised to hear you’re in the company of someone so like you.”_

Anders snorted, Fenris joining. “I guess Hawke didn’t use his more recent title.”

“You were a womanizer?”

“Nah. I was a shameless flirt, but that’s all. Also... there was a rumor I had a minor fetish for statuary.”

_“What?”_

“It’s complicated.”

_“Regardless, you didn’t need references and an intermediary to contact me, Anders. You’re still a Warden, uniform or not, and deserving of the respect that comes with the title. I also owe you a great deal for your aid in the battle of Amaranthine and Vigil’s Keep. And, YOU’RE MY FRIEND. So given that, let’s talk._

_“I’d be happy to assist your friend with his peculiar situation. I’m fascinated by the circumstances leading to his problem, and curious about working with another (potential) Arcane Warrior. I don’t know much force magic, myself, but I’ve got someone in mind to give you both some guidance._

_“Once Wintersend’s over, I’d be thrilled with the prospect of time away from Court. Given the controversy surrounding the circumstances of your departure, I’ll keep this private. Remember Soldier’s Peak? I’m not sure you’ve ever been there. It’s technically under Warden control, though no one goes there but traders and Levi’s family. It’s about time I stuck my head in on Avernus, anyway._

_“Let’s meet at Soldier’s Peak, the last week of Guardian. Plan to stay awhile; Arcane Warfare isn’t learned in a day. I’ve included a map through the tunnels with this letter._

_“Yours,_

_“Neria”_

Anders was quiet a moment, then nodded. 

“Justice agrees. Let’s go.”

“You’re sure this isn’t a trap, to bring you in for killing those Wardens?”

“I doubt it. Neria doesn’t seem to know what happened, or that Justice and I have joined. I trust her enough to find out in person.”

“And, if she does know? If she’s leading you into an ambush?”

“Justice won’t let me be taken in.”

“He knew her, too. You don’t know he will defend you against her.”

Anders frowned. “That’s... actually a good point. They were close, once. Well, close for him, anyway. Regardless, even if they intend to take me in, they’d not have any interest in you.”

“They would once my blade entered the equation. I’ll not allow you to be taken prisoner.”

“You say the sweetest things. Do you no longer wish to go?”

“I do wish to. I simply feel cautious.”

“Fair enough. She isn’t having us meet at a Warden headquarters, at least.”

“And, you’re willing to leave the clinic and Underground, again?”

“For this, yes. I’ll leave plenty of supplies with both Lirene, and with Lucine at the Rose. The Underground....” he sighed. “I guess they’ll have to make do, without me. We’ll be gone two to three months, at most. They got by well enough when I was gone for six.”

Fenris thought about the plans they were making as he watched Anders go through his bedtime routine; brushing his robe clean, washing himself, removing his hair tie and combing his hair. He realized how much Anders was risking to help him learn this magic. This was the second time he’d abandoned his responsibilities to help him.

“Anders.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“No... thank you.”

“For what?”

“More than I can say.”


	23. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected events send them to Ferelden sooner than expected.
> 
> The men share something new.

Anders pondered the map of Ferelden spread between them. 

“OK, I’m thinking we take ship to West Hills, go east on the North Road until we get to the path Neria mapped, then follow her directions to the tunnels.”

“How long is the sea voyage?”

“Less than a week, in decent weather. This time of year, a week and a half, maybe. I’m guessing less than a week from West Hills to Soldier’s Keep. We should leave next week.”

Fenris gave no indication of agreement or disagreement. He’d been grateful for the chance to go, yet showed no enthusiasm. Perhaps he was still worried about Neria’s motives. Or, disquieted to learn more magic. Or, maybe it was something else, entirely.

“Do you get sea-sick, Fenris?”

The elf suddenly looked worried. “No. Do _you?”_

Anders laughed. “No. I won’t be showering you, again.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I’ve been puked on plenty of times. It’s not that bad.”

“You had an enviable loss of memory. It _was_ that bad.”

“Come on. If we don’t wanna miss seeing-off Hawke and the crew.”

The night before, Hawke had met up with a group of Antivan Crows, and an elf by the name of Tallis. Varric came by to tell them the tale, and let them know Hawke was leaving this morning, to follow Tallis to a chateau on the slopes of the Vimmark Mountains.

It was early, few people about but merchants opening their shops. Varric, Merrill, and Sebastian gathered at Hawke’s estate.

“Where is this Tallis?” Fenris asked.

“She’s meeting us outside the city walls,” Hawke said. “When are you two leaving for Ferelden?”

“Next week,” Anders said. “Think you’ll be back by then?”

“Probably not. So, we’ll see you in a few months.”

Sebastian shouldered his pack. “Hawke, did you inform the Knight Commander you’re leaving?”

“I sent Bodahn with a message.”

“Don’t tell me you’re asking permission to leave the city?” Anders was appalled.

Hawke chuckled. “Hardly, Anders. She’s the de facto viscount. If the city’s Champion will be gone for an extended period, it’s simply considerate to let her know.”

“Well... good luck, then.”

“Write when you get to Ferelden, will you?”

Varric chuckled. “Mama Hawke is worried about her babies leaving the nest.”

“I am _not_ a baby,” Fenris grumbled.

“And, I am _not_ maternal!” Hawke exclaimed. “Am I?”.

“You protect your own like Andraste, herself,” Sebastian intoned.

Hawke gave the archer a honey-sweet smile of adoration.

Varric turned to Anders and muttered, “You getting a toothache, too?” 

“You gonna be alright, traveling with him?”

“Sure. He’s dull, but at least this Tallis seems interesting.”

“You trust her?”

“Not a bit. She’s hiding something, but I don’t get the feeling it’s a set-up. Sniffing-out her story will make up for Choir Boy.” 

“I’m kind of sorry to miss it.”

“You’ve got an adventure of your own, Blondie. I expect a full report on your return.”

Once farewells had been said, Anders turned toward the Darktown stairs.

“I’m heading to the clinic. Dinner tonight?”

“Of course. I’ll walk you down.”

Anders grinned as they started down the stairs. Fenris wasn’t overly demonstrative in public, but he made frequent gestures like this. Finding a drink awaiting him when they met at the tavern; or being protected from jostling in the market; even occasionally walking him to and from the clinic. To Anders, they were a sign of the elf’s softer side, to which few were privy.

“Wish you were going with Hawke?” he asked the elf.

“No. I’ve been to Orlesian affairs, and have no desire to attend more.”

“The wyvern hunt sounds fun.”

Fenris chortled. “You have a skewed idea of fun.”

“Like I haven’t heard that before. I’m surprised she didn’t take Isabela. It sounds just like the sort of thing she’d be up for.”

“She’s already got two lock-picks in the group. This is the first chance she’s had for extended time with Sebastian.”

“What does she see in him?”

Fenris shrugged. “He treats her with affection and respect. That’s not to be discounted, Anders.”

“Yeah, but no passion.”

“Is passion necessary for intimacy?”

“Well, no. But, they’re sort of courting. It’s just strange.”

“He makes her happy. That’s all I need to know.”

Anders thought about it. He was sure his and Fenris’ progression would be considered strange by some. Who was he to judge? 

“You’re right, Fenris. As usual.”

“I’d like that in writing.”

“And, I’d like a purple griffon.”

“Of course, you would. They’re half-feline.” He ruffled Anders’ pauldrons. “And, feathered. I think we’ve found your spirit animal. Fitting, being a Warden.”

“I’m full-up on spirits, thank you.”

“As long as you’re not drinking them.”

“Maker’s ass. Am I _ever_ going to live that down?”

Fenris chuckled. “Not in my lifetime.”

Entering the dank tunnels of Darktown, Anders knew something was off. The alleys and tunnels usually teemed with refugees, but this morning, the area was abandoned. Fenris’ blade was in his hand, noticing the change, as well. Further in, they saw people scrambling, heard cries and lamentation. Bodies were lined along the narrow passage, mothers weeping over lifeless bundles in their arms. Fenris grabbed a man rushing past.

“What happened, here?”

The man cowered, face stricken. “Chokedamp... so many dead!”

Anders bolted into the turmoil. Many recognized him, and called out for help. He set about healing the lungs of those who’d lived through the poisoned air. He caught sight of Fenris, helping direct and carry the ill toward Anders, keeping the crowd somewhat contained. 

He had no idea how long he healed and comforted. Long enough to go through all the lyrium and healing potions in his pouch. His gratitude was overwhelming when he looked up to see Fenris holding out a bag full of potions.

“I broke into the clinic. I think you’d better come with me.”

He followed him through the diminished crowd, and through the tunnels toward the clinic. Stopping at a hatch into the lower sewers, he leaned over, calling out. Voices replied.

“A group took refuge below. Most live, but need attention.” He dropped through the hatch, and Anders made to follow. Justice suddenly flared within, alert to danger. Pain exploded through his skull, and all went black.

\----------------------

He was swimming in dark waters. He tried to see through the shadows, hear beyond the echoing emptiness. A low, distorted sound reached him.

_“...aaaannnnnndddeeeeerrrrrrrssssssssssss....”_

Something held his feet... something held his head.... the something shook, and pain bounced through his skull like fire.

 _“Nnnnggghhhhhh..._ stop....”

“Anders....”

It was Fenris. He blinked open his eyes, and found the elf bent over him, worry etched in his features.

 _“Fasta vass!_ At last!”

“Whaaaa--.”

“You were taken by templars.”

He sat bolt upright, head throbbing. His lower legs and feet were encased in a large mound of solid ice. Also encased, head to toe, were two templars, each holding one of his ankles. 

He put his hands to his head, sticky hair at the top pronouncing the source of his pain. A quick flash with healing magic brought relief.

“What happened?” 

Fenris’ hands ran through Anders bloody hair, down his neck, across his back and chest, and back up to his hair. His eyes still brimmed with worry.

“You never followed me into the sewer. By the time I realized you weren’t coming, and got out again, you were gone.”

“I felt Justice... then, everything went black.”

“I believe you took a pommel to the skull. By the time I caught up with you, they’d dragged you through most of Darktown.”

“You iced them?”

“I couldn’t let them reach the surface... too many witnesses.”

“Once I dispel the ice, they'll be mobile. Ready for battle?”

“They’re dead, already. I phased, and crushed their hearts while they were frozen. We can leave them here. They'll look like victims of chokedamp.”

A smile spread across Anders’ face, and he dispelled the ice. Sure enough, the templars slumped lifeless to the ground. 

“You are _brilliant.”_

“Why did that spirit of yours not stop them?”

“Well, they _did_ knock me out, Fenris.”

“It animated a corpse, yet could not animate an unconscious body? It should have protected you!”

Fenris helped him stand, brushing off the dirt of being dragged through Darktown.

“What good is the blasted thing, if it can’t help you in situations like this?” Fenris spat.

Anders looked at him in surprise. Then, realized it was just Fenris, expressing fear the way he knew best... through anger.

“He’s not a hired mercenary, you know. I don’t know what happens to him when I’m knocked unconscious.”

“Don’t you learn about spirits and possession in the Circle?”

“Fenris... there’s no book entitled _‘Your Possessing Spirit and You.’”_

Fenris scowled. “We should move on.”

“I need to get back to work--”

“We’re leaving Kirkwall, _now._ Let’s get our gear, and get to the docks.”

Surprised by the sudden change in plans, Anders was led by the wrist to the clinic. He packed his belongings while Fenris repaired the door. Once again led by a tight grip on his wrist, he followed Fenris through Hawke’s cellar, and to his mansion. Fenris explained his haste as he packed. 

“This wasn’t a random raid. They were headed straight for your clinic, recognized you in the corridor, and knocked you out to drag back to the Gallows. You’ve said before, they know who you are. Meredith’s taking advantage of Hawke’s absence to arrest you without the Champion’s interference.”

“Maker’s balls, Fenris.” It made perfect sense. 

“They could have just killed you with a blade through your skull, but they didn’t. They wanted you alive. You know what they would do.” Fenris lapsed into muttered curses, at that point, furiously shoving items into his bag.

He caught his hands. “Hey. I’m fine. You saved me. You used the perfect combination of magic and markings, and gave us both a clean escape. We’ll put the city behind us, and everything will be fine.” 

Fenris oozed despair. “And, if they hadn’t wanted you alive? Or, I hadn’t found you in time?”

“Well, apparently Justice can work through death, he did it before. And, if they’d gotten me out of the sewers, he’d have fought back, once I came-to.”

“I don’t like relying upon that spirit for your safety. You think yourself invulnerable, but you’re not. You were too easily overcome. I could have lost you today, Anders!”

“Fenris, you didn’t.” Fenris scowled, averting his gaze. “And, you _won’t._ We’ll get out of the city. A few months away will cool things down, and Hawke will be here when we return. Fenris, this is nothing new. I’ve been dodging templars most of my life.”

Fenris shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “Put on a hat... the blood in your hair will draw attention.”

Wearing a moth-eaten hat found in a dusty crate, Anders followed Fenris as they made for the docks. They just managed to board a boat preparing for departure. Neither breathed easily until they were out of the harbor.

Once ensconced in their cabin, Anders set about washing the blood from his hair. There’d been only one cabin available, and it had been the boat’s stateroom. Fenris handed over the coin without hesitation, and now they resided in the largest room on the ship. Of course, as a ship’s cabin, it was only about a third the size of Fenris’ room in the mansion. Even so, it included a small bathtub, large berth, and two comfortable chairs. 

Fenris was watching out the porthole for signs of pursuit.

“I see no signs anyone is following.”

“They probably haven’t found the bodies, yet.”

Fenris sat on the bed, watching as Anders dragged a comb through his clean, damp, tangled hair. There had been a time the elf’s intense scrutiny would have made him uncomfortable. That time was past. 

“Fenris, I’m fine,” he assured him, struggling with a snarl. The elf divested his gauntlets, and pulled Anders to sit on the floor between his knees. With the comb, gentle fingers, and infinite patience, Fenris sorted the fine hair. 

“You don’t know how it felt, seeing you dragged away by those templars.”

His remembered Karl, escorted out the door of Kinloch Hold. 

“Fenris, I do know how it felt,” he said quietly.

There was a pause before Fenris replied. “Perhaps. Yet, they were not simply taking you to the Gallows. They were taking you to die, or have your mind sundered. Or, worse.”

He was right. His mind filled with an image: Fenris, dragged unconscious behind two templars, arms trailing in the dirt, white hair red with blood. He too, could expect death or Tranquility.

Gut clenching, Anders grasped for the hand combing his hair. Pressing the palm to his lips, he turned to kneel before Fenris, who took him in his arms, kissing him. It was desperate and consuming. Shortly, Fenris pulled him on the bed to lie entwined together, reassuring themselves of each other’s presence. At long last, the elf broke the kiss, and spoke.

“We’re safe now, Anders. Why do you tremble, so?”

Anders’ voice was harsh with emotion. “We’ll never be safe. Neither of us. Even when Danarius is dead and gone, we'll still be hunted... still be hated.”

He felt Fenris’ hands in his hair, stroking, gentling. “Shhh... all is well, for now.”

Anders knew Fenris had set aside his own fear to comfort him. Another example of his soft side. He pulled himself close, trying to sink into the elf, to hide within him; to find safety from a world that never let him forget how much it despised him, simply for being born.

It wasn’t long before armor and robes were dropping to the floor. Their kiss grew, their touch was emboldened. He ran his hands down Fenris’ form, as much to prove his well-being as in desire. Desire kindled from relief.

“I want to crawl inside you... become one with you....” he whispered between kisses. He stripped Fenris’ tunic over his head, leaving him bare, then kicked down his own trousers. 

“You can. Cast your spell, Anders. Let me take you inside me.”

Anders was overcome; with anticipation, with desire, with adoration, with every emotion known to man. He held Fenris, melting into his kiss. Then, he cast his preparatory spell. 

Kneeling above him, he hesitated. All his studies, all his knowledge, all his fantasy, went straight out the porthole.

“Fenris... uhm....” He had no idea how to go about this. Fenris understood, and pulled him into a kiss.

“It’s alright... we do this together.” 

With gentle whispers, and soothing hands, Fenris guided him. He helped him prepare himself, and take position, and with near disbelief, Anders watched himself breach Fenris’ body.... the first time he’d entered another.

Tight... hot... slick from the spell’s lubricant... _holy Maker..._ he was within him. He was sliding into Fenris’ body, and sweet-Andraste-help-him... it was beyond any of his imaginings.

 _“Venhedis... yes....”_ Fenris moaned, hands guiding Anders’ hips, as he slowly passed through the ring of tight, slick muscle.

Anders submerged to his root, and stilled. He looked at Fenris in awe, feeling his body tight around him, feeling them joined, like lock and key. _Oh... the feeling._

He fought for words. “Fenris... are you... alright?”

The elf panted with eyes closed, legs wrapped tight around his waist. _“Alright..._ is insufficient.”

He slowly pulled his hips back, and sank into him again, shuddering. Fenris shuddered with him, moaning. Again, he pulled back... and again, sank within. _Within._ He was _within_ him, and it was as good, and safe, as he’d imagined... _oh, the pleasure...._

Nothing felt like this. _Nothing._ The next time he sank within, Fenris thrust up to meet him, and he cried out. And again... and again... and again.

He peeled open his eyes, and gazed at the man below him. Green eyes gazed back... beautiful green eyes, filled with desire, and need, and _something..._ something that made Anders’ heart stutter. He cupped Fenris’ head in his hands, sliding fingers through silken hair. He kissed him, losing his pace, uncaring, because he had to kiss him, to absorb whatever it was he’d seen shining in those eyes. 

“Fenris... oh, Maker... Fenris....”

He moved, his body finding a rhythm without him; bodies undulating as they danced to the bliss rising between them. He pressed their foreheads together, panting breaths mingling, moans chasing one another. This was so much more than he’d ever heard described. It was beyond any pleasure he’d ever felt. 

He’d listened to dormitory and brothel talk for years, but nothing had prepared him for _this._ Why had no one gossiped of the _intimacy?_ Why had no one bragged about _the connection?_ Why had no one warned him of the _unbearable ache_ in his chest, as he lost himself in the body and soul of the man with whom he was joined?

He shifted position, aiming for the elf’s pleasure center. He knew he’d found it when Fenris cried out. Expression impassioned, Fenris gave voice to their union. Green eyes, misty and naked, gazed into his, and Anders felt his heart splay open. He loved this man. Loved him so deeply, so completely, he could barely contain it. There was nothing he wouldn’t give him, nothing he wouldn’t do for him. 

He was lost in a kaleidoscope of sensation. The feel of Fenris’ cheek against his; the sound of his moans in his ear; strong arms, holding him tight; the scent of hot skin, sweat, arousal; silken hair between his fingers.

Above it all, the singular sensation of moving within Fenris’ body; the tight, slick ring about his cock, the fiery heat. It was primal... and precious... and perfect. He couldn’t stop craning his neck, to see where they joined, to watch as their bodies moved together. He was part of him... _part of him._

His rhythm hastened, and thrusts deepened. Fenris called out, nails dragging across Anders’ back. His spine arched in response, a shout of passion drawn from him. He was burning, gasping for air, groin tightening. Why had no one told him of the unbearable rapture?

He buried his face in Fenris’ neck, wordless cries choking from his throat, hips pounding as his body sought completion for them both. 

Fenris whispered into his ear, and he was undone.

_“I am yours.”_

He lost what little control he had. He came... hard, intense; sobbing as he was bowled through with wave after wave of pleasure. Fenris spasmed around his pulsing flesh, warmth coating their bellies. 

He spent himself within Fenris; leaving his essence behind. A part of himself, connecting him to this man, who with three words, had just given himself to him. This extraordinary man, who deemed him worthy of so precious a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders... such a romantic. <3
> 
> Justice... his appearances aren't all that reliable. Anders can be KO'd in a fight. He can be knocked out by blood magic by Grace in Act III. But, he also tells Anders, "Dude, ya got company," when Hawke calmly shows up at the clinic for the first time. *shrug*


	24. Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris feels.

Fenris drifted. In peace, in warmth, afloat on an ocean of contentment.

Anders floated with him. Nestled close, limbs entwined; he was like a sumptuous blanket. A sumptuous blanket whose warm breath tickled his neck. 

They were sticky with the leavings of their joining. His rear burned slightly from long-unaccustomed exertions. It was a delightful sensation, reminding him of what he’d just shared with the man in his arms. The man whose soft, fine hair sifted through his fingers, and tickled his nose. Anders, all around him, filling his senses.

He felt him take a deep breath, and exhale a long sigh. Limbs stretched across his body, pulling him closer. Fenris tucked his chin to place a lingering kiss on his forehead.

Memories from the pleasure just shared passed through his mind. The want in his own body, as he guided Anders in his first act of this kind. The look of awe on Anders’ face as they joined. The naked adoration in his eyes, as he held Fenris, and moved with him. The rush of sensation; not only physical, but emotional, which Fenris had never before known.

He picked up the hand idly stroking his chest, and brought it to his lips. Replacing it, he covered it with his own, and sighed. He was utterly replete.

Fenris knew Anders loved him. He’d confessed as much. True, he’d said it in a foreign tongue, while covered in drunken spew. But, for a man who’d learned both Qunlat and Tevene by ear, it was simple enough to decipher. If _liebestanz_ meant Love Dance, _ich liebe dich_ wasn’t hard to suss-out.

True, Anders claimed no memory of the words’ meaning. But, Anders was guileless, without means to bluff, and Fenris saw cleanly through his lie. He not only remembered the words, he’d meant them. And, it was that lie which told Fenris everything.

Anders knew those very words had been coerced from him in his slavery. Used to bind him to his master, and further justify his treatment. To Fenris, _I love you_ had once meant, _I am your slave._

The fact Anders declined to speak those words, said far more about the depth of his feelings than the words themselves ever could. 

He rolled over, pressing against the entire length of him. He buried his nose in the exposed curve of neck, inhaling his scent. Warm hands stroked leisurely up his spine, and into his hair. Tingles spread across his scalp from gently massaging fingers. 

The moment Anders refused to say _I love you,_ Fenris had become utterly, and truly, his. He’d simply never found the courage to say it; until the day he’d nearly lost him. 

The boat gently swayed, as they drifted in peace, in warmth, afloat on an ocean of contentment.


	25. Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of shipboard vignettes, long and short.

Less than two days out of port, the weather turned for the worse. With the deck off-limits, passengers were forced to remain in their cabins. Some took their meals in the common mess. After one trial, Fenris and Anders opted to avoid the press of people, and eat in their cabin. As well as they’d gotten to know one another at the cove, being trapped day and night in the same room gave them a sense of intimacy neither had anticipated, for both the better, and the worse.

Fenris asked Anders if he could manage such a small space, for so long. Although his brow had furrowed, he’d nodded.

“Well, I don’t really have much of a choice. I can always pace the passageway, if worse-comes-to-worse. We have books, a deck of cards... each other. We’ll make do.”

And, they did. With two lanterns secured against the walls, and a variety of magical lights, the room was kept bright. Bright, and heaving. The ship lurched through storm after storm. When they opened the porthole for fresh air, they saw swells as tall as the ship, and wind-swept rain. They couldn’t leave the tiny window open long, for the cold brine that splashed inside.

Fenris felt his gorge rise as the boat took yet another drop from a swell. 

He felt a hand on his back. “Nauseated?”

“No. Just queasy.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I’m fine if the boat doesn’t move.”

Anders chuckled. “The boat _is_ moving, Fenris.”

“Fine, cast a healing spell.”

“I can’t fix seasickness with magic. I have a root you can chew....”

“Ginger?”

“Yep.”

“Can you make it into tea? It burns, raw.”

“Sure. This’ll be tricky, with the rocking, but I’ll figure something out.”

Fenris watched him pull items from his pack, considering, then dismissing. Finally, he settled on an assortment of supplies, and heated a half-mug of water with a gentle blast of magic. 

“Why can you heal some illness with magic, but not others?”

“I can’t fix what isn’t broken.”

“What?”

“Well, if a bone isn’t broken, I can’t mend it, right? If pain or nausea isn’t caused by something amiss in the body, I can’t fix that, either. There’s nothing actually _wrong_ with you, right now. No injury, or infection. Your stomach’s just turning with the motion.”

“Is that why you couldn’t heal my lungs, at the cove?”

“Sort of. Your body was overcompensating for the injury to your lungs. Each time I repaired the damage your own system was doing, it did it again.” 

He heard the roots drop into the simmering water. Anders continued.

“It’s like... oh, disfigurements. Say a person is born with six toes on one foot. I can’t heal it, because there’s nothing wrong with it; the body simply made one too many toes. I could cut the thing off, and heal the wound, but that’s about it.”

“Would you?”

“What?” 

“Cut off the extra toe?”

“Not unless it was painful or rotted. What harm is an extra toe? I think it’s interesting.”

Fenris snorted. It was a perfect example of Anders’ personality... and it was amazing.

“I think it's steeped enough. Give it a try.”

He sipped at it, grimacing. It was tolerable.

“Have you ever heard of figging?” Anders asked. “A brothel worker told me about it.”

“Inserting peeled ginger into a body orifice? I've had it done.”

“Maker’s breath, that had to hurt!”

Fenris nodded. “It burned. Especially in the cock. Not for long, but long enough.”

 _“In your cock?_ I thought it was just up the arse....”

“There, too. The magister who did it, had me return the favor. He enjoyed it. Is this something you wish to try?”

_“No!”_

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to indulge your curiosity... as long as it’s your piss hole on the line, and not mine,” Fenris said with a wink.

Anders' eyes widened, then he snorted. Then, he looked aghast.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. Your wink caught me off-guard.”

“I’m pleased to hear your laughter. I don’t want my entire life to bring you to tears.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think a summer squash is all the vegetation exploration I need.”

“It wasn’t just _any_ summer squash,” Fenris teased. “It was a _yellow_ summer squash. That’s a kink beyond my paltry experience.”

Anders laughed. Fenris felt a surge of joy. There was healing power in laughter, he realized. 

“There’s a hierarchy to vegetable kink? I had no idea. Squash outranks ginger? That’s unexpected. What outranks squash?”

“Melon.”

“It would never fit, Fenris.”

Fenris chuckled. “The melon isn't inserted into the body. A hole is cut for men to use.”

“Sweet Maker. I hope they don’t serve it, afterward.”

“You jest, yet I wouldn't be surprised if some noble did just that, as an insult to a guest.”

“Nasty. Is there no place men won’t stick their dicks?”

“Women are just as adventuresome, if not more-so.”

"What's it like... being with a woman? I mean, I know you didn't have _normal_ experiences, but...."

He shrugged. "In general, penetration is easier. Bringing them pleasure can be more complex... they often require greater stimulation."

"That's not what I meant. What does it _feel_ like?"

"Ah. They are softer than men. Skin, hair, breasts, genitalia. Yet, in my experience, their words were sharper, and tempers hotter. And, they were equally likely to utilize erotic paraphernalia as men."

Anders shook his head. “When I was at Kinloch Hold, a pair of marble balls, charmed to vibrate, made the rounds of the Circle. I don’t know who made them, or how long they’d been passed around, but the first time I saw them, I was about fifteen. A group of apprentices stood in the library, watching as an Enchanter led one of the girls through a summoning exercise. 

“Suddenly, there was a clatter, and those marble balls rolled out from under the girl’s robe. Apparently, she’d stuck them up her twat, and they’d worked their way out. We all watched in silent awe, as they rolled across the library and up against a wall; where they sat, vibrating. 

“Jump ahead a decade, and I’m a healer in the Circle infirmary. In comes an apprentice, who says something’s stuck in his rectum. So, ten years after I first saw the things, I pulled those same vibrating balls out of his ass.”

They both laughed, as Fenris asked,

“What finally became of them?”

“I stuck them in a box of enchantments being delivered to the Grand Cathedral.”

As their laughter died away, Fenris realized his nausea had, as well.

\------------------------

It began as a teasing display on the part of Anders, while drying off after his bath. Fenris had been sitting in one of the chairs, reading, when he noticed him kneeling on the bed. Holding his gaze, Anders playfully stroked his half-erect shaft. He’d continued, growing larger and harder, as Fenris became fully captivated. Seeing his interest, Anders greased his palm, and things got serious.

Fenris had never seen him pleasure himself. He was glorious. Pale skin golden in the lantern-light, freshly washed hair unbound and untamed. His cock glistened with lubricant, swollen and flushed. He felt himself stir, watching in fascination, and no small amount of arousal. Edging down his leggings, he’d taken his very interested cock in hand, and stroked himself. He'd never done this to himself.

Anders gazed at him owlishly, breath hitching.

“Fuck, Fenris,” he breathed.

Neither moved toward the other, each entranced by the other’s performance. When Anders moaned, grasping his balls with his free hand, Fenris felt himself surge. He began leaking, the viscous fluid smoothing his strokes. Eyes glued to the man on the bed, he worked his flesh.

The amber eyes had closed, as mouth ajar, Anders took himself closer to the edge. Fenris had never seen so erotic a performance. The slender body, broad shoulders, long limbs... the handsome face, bust open with pleasure. He watched eagerly for him to peak, awaited Anders’ climax with as much anticipation as his own. A soft exhalation escaped the mage.

_“Ohhhhhhhhh... Fenris.”_

He could hear the sound of Anders’ strokes; slick, whispery, obscene. The thick, glistening cock reddened, head swelling, veins engorged. He was close.

“Fen... Fen... Fenris... coming... Maker, I’m... _gaaaahhhhhhhhh!”_

Head thrown back, Anders painted his own belly, hand covered in issue. With a lurch, Fenris did the same. 

And, it was _good._

\------------------------

Fenris dumped his pack, looking for his sewing kit. He’d been looking for nearly an hour. How he could lose something in such a small room was beyond him. It wasn’t even a _small_ something; it was a pouch the size of his fist, with needles, thread and sinew inside. Where could it be?

He rifled through his belongings, turned his pack inside-out, and still couldn’t find it. He picked up Anders’ pack, and did the same.

“Hey! That’s my stuff!” Anders was folded into one of the chairs, reading Fenris’ Book of Shartan.

“I have looked everywhere else. Are you sure you haven’t seen it?”

“How could I? The entire room is covered in your crap.”

“Don’t start.” He rifled through Anders’ belongings, and found two tiny seashells. He held them up. “From the cove?”

“Yeah. I found them in the bottom of my pack after we returned. I like keeping them with me.”

Fenris held them, a smile at the corners of his lips. He put them back in the pack, and continued his search.

“Why are you so desperate for your sewing kit, anyway?”

“The foot straps on my leggings fray. I like to keep on top of it. _Fasta vass._ Where could it be?”

“Where _couldn’t_ it be? Have you looked through the bedding?”

With a sigh, Fenris pulled the bed apart. Finally, standing in the pile of blankets, he gave a shout of frustration.

 _“Gahhhhhh!!_ Where is the _vashadan_ thing?”

“Ohh. Qunlat. This is getting serious.”

“Shut up and help me make the bed.”

Anders stood from his chair, and Fenris’ jaw dropped. In the seat he’d just vacated, lay the sewing kit. He picked it up, brandishing at Anders.

_“THIS WHOLE TIME! YOU’VE BEEN SITTING ON IT THIS WHOLE TIME!”_

“Well, I didn’t _know_ I was sitting on it....”

_“HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW?”_

“I didn’t feel it.”

“I think I would feel this thing going halfway up my ass!”

Anders snorted. “Are you still talking about the sewing kit?”

Fenris glared at the smirking face. “Shut up. I’m not talking to you.”

“Let’s go back to talking about things going up my ass.”

“Anders, so help me....”

\--------------------------------------

Fenris panted for air, body trembling. So good... _so good._

Anders was beneath him, cock thrusting into him, as Fenris rode him mercilessly.

“Fenris... _ah..._ Fenris... _nnnnngggghhhhhhhh....”_

Hands clutched at his hips, moving him on the hard shaft. Perfect... _right there...._

“Anders.... _venhedis..._ just like that... just... like.... _gaaaahhhhhhhh!!!”_

He spent himself across the mage’s belly, shuddering. Anders moved him faster, thrusting harder. 

“Yes... yes... Fen... Fen... Fenris.... _aaaahhhhhh!”_

He felt heat fill him, felt himself pulled against a heaving chest. He collapsed, gasping for air, grasping for Anders, supremely satisfied. 

From the neighboring cabin came pounding on the wall. 

“Maker’s breath. I hope it’s not snowing in their cabin.”

“I haven’t snowed for a while, now.”

Anders chuckled. “You think they want an encore?”

Fenris huffed a laugh. “They’re getting one, either way.”

\----------------------------------------------------

“Fenris, honestly. You’re worse than chokedamp.” Anders flung open the porthole cover. Fresh, cold air blasted through the tiny hole.

Fenris shrugged from his chair. “Don’t blame me for the galley’s doing.”

“I ate the same thing, and I’m not peeling the paint from the walls.”

“Nug doesn’t sit well with me.”

The staccato peel of passing gas sounded from the elf’s chair. Anders rolled his eyes dramatically.

_“Maker’s breath!”_

“I’m fairly certain that is _not_ the Maker’s breath.”

“I can’t believe you have no control over it.”

“I should hold it in? That cannot be healthy.”

“I wish I had a spell to give flatulence the scent of roses. Why doesn’t the Circle teach truly _useful magic?”_

Fenris chuckled, which resulted in more of said flatulence.

“Stop laughing! It makes you produce.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Sweet Maker, man, that’s just not right. It’s like a stench demon crawled inside you and died.”

“Calm yourself. That seems to be the last of it.”

“Andraste be praised! I’m still leaving the porthole open. Have you seen my book?”

“I think it was kicked under my chair.”

As he bent next to the chair, Fenris loosed another bout of loud flatulence. Anders jerked upright, horror on his face.

“You did that on purpose! You waited until I was head-first in the kill-zone, and let one rip! My book’s not even under there, is it?”

Fenris shook his head, face contorted with laughter. 

Anders snatched a pillow from the berth and pummeled him about the head and shoulders, Fenris too weak from laughter to defend himself.

\------------------------------------

He was beautiful. Breathtaking. Exquisite. 

Holding Anders as he shuddered, moaning, hair awry and skin flushed, was Fenris’ greatest delight. He was almost ready.

“You’re still sure?” Fenris breathed into his ear, fingers within Anders, preparing and pleasuring him for his first penetration.

“Yes...” he moaned. “Maker, _yes.”_

“It might be easier for you on your side, with your back against me.”

He shook his head. “No. I want to see you, and hold you.”

Fenris kissed him. “As you wish. Lift your knees... higher. Good. Give me some grease.”

A small flash of magic, and Fenris scooped lubricant from Anders’ palm. He groaned as he ran his hand along his own shaft, spreading the slick. He’d entered many bodies, in many ways. This... was not the same. The mechanics of the act were unchanged, but the meaning behind it made it entirely new. Everything with Anders was entirely new.

He positioned himself for entrance, and was stopped by hands on his shoulders.

“Fenris... are you sure you’ll fit?”

“I... fit? Within you? It’s your spell... do you wish me to prepare you, further?”

“You just... seem kind of big....”

Fenris smiled, kissing him. “You say this, having been with a yellow squash?”

Anders chuckled. “I see your point. I don’t mean to fuss.” 

“You can change your mind. After this long, I’d rather you were sure....”

“No, I’m sure. Just... go slow.”

He pulled Anders against him, and simply kissed him a while. “As slow as you like.”

When he finally began the careful thrust past the tight ring of muscle, he watched for any discomfort in the expressive face below him. It was harder to go slow than he’d expected. The tight heat, the slick embrace of the body around him... so much more compelling than he’d anticipated. He paused after that first breach, watching Anders through half-lidded eyes. 

“Are you alright?” he breathed.

Anders nodded. “So far, so good,” he gasped. 

Carefully, trembling with restraint, he sheathed himself within Anders’ pliant body. Every nerve screamed to simply plunge in... again, and again. Once seated, he released breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. _Fasta vass..._ the feeling was incomparable.

“It’s... strange,” Anders whispered. “Not bad... just....”

"I know. Tell me when you’re ready.” Fenris took slow, calming breaths smoothing his cheek against Anders’ jaw. 

The mage shifted himself slightly, wrapping long legs about his waist. He nodded. 

Straining to keep his pace slow, eyes squeezed shut against the encompassing pleasure, Fenris moved. Slow, gentle thrusts, letting Anders acclimate to the sensation.

“Still alright?” he gasped

There was no reply. He cracked open his eyes, and found Anders biting his frowning lip. Fenris stopped.

“Is there pain?”

“N-n-no. Not exactly.”

“What is it?”

“I feel like I’m gonna shit.”

Fenris huffed a chuckle. How he admired Anders’ candidness.

“You won’t be laughing if I do.”

“I apologize. I’m not laughing at you. Is the sensation inside... or, at your entrance?”

“Umm... entrance.”

“It’s alright. It’ll fade.” He slowly began moving, again. 

“Are you sure? I don’t--sweet tits of Andraste!”

Fenris smiled to himself. He’d found Anders’ prostate, and all other sensations had faded.

“Fenris... oh, holy Maker... _nnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh....”_

“Better?” he panted.

“Fuck... fuck... fuck....”

And then, it was pleasure. Physical, certainly, but more. Seeing Anders experience this for the first time was mesmerizing. Still unsure, the mage held himself still, hands on Fenris’ arms, as though to bolt if something went awry. Yet, he also twitched and gasped as the pleasure within overrode the strange, new sensations.

Seeing he was enjoying the experience, Fenris let himself move more freely. His body automatically went through the motions it had been trained in; seeking those angles which brought the strongest response, allowing his body to be pulled close or pushed away. Anders was doing both; arms keeping him at a distance, legs pulling him tight. 

The distance closed as pleasure gained footing. Anders’ body became more pliant, hips rocking. Fenris slid his arms beneath his shoulders, holding him in place as he thrust with more force. Reaching back for one of Anders’ thighs, he pulled his leg further up, a move that sent shudders through the mage.

“F-f-f-f-fuck! _nnnnnnggggghhhhhh!”_

Friction... heat... coiling tension... electric bliss shooting along his spine. Fenris rode his need, and feared it would be a short ride. Feeling Anders thrust with him, squeezing his cock within, was beyond good... beyond any expected or dreamed pleasure. 

“I think I’m... I think I’m... _ohhhhhhhhh, Maker..._ Fen... Fen... Fenris... gonna come... so close-so close-so close....”

Anders writhed against him, and it was the beginning of Fenris’ end. He reached a hand to the dripping cock slapping against Anders’ stomach. A few pulls, and the mage fell apart in his arms. A few more thrusts, and Fenris did the same.

Aftershocks twitched through him as he lay collapsed upon him, gasping for breath. He turned his face to press slow kisses against Anders’ throat, jaw, and ear. When the mage recovered enough to return his kiss, he carefully disengaged, and dropped beside him.

He gazed at Anders’ profile. His long, straight nose. The firm jawline and chin. He even liked the stubble which normally covered his face. It was absent now, this morning having been his weekly shave. His smattering of freckles stood out without the shading of whiskers. Fenris reached a hand, stroking along his skin. It was smooth in one direction, raspy in the other.

Anders captured his hand, kissing each fingertip in turn. “Feeling my smooth shave?”

“I like it when you’re stubbled.”

Anders turned to face him, stroking the elf’s smooth cheek. “I like that you’re smooth. Your skin feels amazing against my lips.” 

“How do you feel?”

He was blinded by a brilliant smile. “Fucking incredible.”

Fenris chuckled. “Appropriate wording.”

Anders chuckled with him, then muffled it with a long, heady kiss.

“It was... amazing. Wonderful. Strange. A little scary. Perfect.”

“All that?”

“Yes. I hadn’t expected so much descriptive fare, but I probably should have. I really like feeling you inside me.”

“It’s mutual. But, you’re likely to be sore, at first. Let’s take it slow.”

“You’re the boss. Of this, anyway. The boss of my ass.”

Fenris smirked, running a possessive hand along the curve of the ass in question. “I will cherish my charge, and do my utmost to keep it out of trouble.”

“Good luck with that.”

\--------------------------

“Damn it! If you’d just listen to what I’m saying...!”

“Anders, I’ve been listening to you for hours. You have no comprehension of what you speak....”

“No comprehension? Who do you know with _better_ comprehension?”

“Any urchin on the street, apparently. You give no thought to the facts....”

“I have given _every_ thought to the facts! You wouldn’t know the facts if they bit you!”

“Just what gives you such superior comprehension, I ask? Do you think one needs to live it, to see the logic of it? You are basing your arguments on emotion and whimsy....”

“Whimsy? _Whimsy?_ I can’t believe you! What whimsy do you imagine? I guarantee, there is no whimsy involved! _Whimsy!”_

“Does it lend validity to your argument if you repeat the word a dozen times?”

“Whimsy-whimsy-whimsy-whimsy-whimsy.”

“Very adult, Anders. I hope your manifesto has a higher level of vocabulary.”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring up my manifesto! It’s important to me. Don’t you _even_ denigrate it!”

“I am not denigrating it. I’m simply hoping you haven’t filled it with arguments such as _whimsy-whimsy-whimsy-whimsy-whimsy.”_

“You’re the one who used the word, first.”

“Anders... do you even remember what you’re arguing about?”

“Of course, I do! You’re the one who derailed us with--”

“Whimsy?”

“Say whimsy again, Fenris... I dare you. Say whimsy again. You say it again, and I’m not speaking to you for the rest of the voyage.”

_“Whimsy.”_

_“SHUT. UP.”_

“Short trip.”

\------------------------------------

He floated in blissful sensation. Eyes closed, body relaxed, he felt the mage’s actions undo him.

He’d never get used to this. He’d never experienced this, before Anders. They’d learned their new parts together, and it was astounding.

Anders’ mouth swallowed him. His cock met the back of his throat, sliding down, and then out; the soft friction of lips, tongue, and palate just _perfect._

Comfortably slumped in a chair, the mage kneeling before him, he had nothing to do but feel the pleasure. And, such pleasure it was. Since the first time, Anders had said how much he enjoyed this. Indeed, his moans and expression confirmed it. Fenris shuddered as one such moan vibrated along his flesh. 

He sank his fingers into the burnished gold hair; not directing his motions, simply feeling the delight of his soft tresses. 

He’d never get used to this... and he didn’t want to.

\-----------------------------------

Fenris came suddenly out of sleep. He lay still, listening for what woke him.

_“Let me out! Let me out!”_

He leaned up on his elbow, and ran his fingers through Anders’ hair.

“Anders... wake up... you’re safe... wake up, now....”

With a gasp, he burst from sleep, sweated and trembling. He turned to Fenris, and clung.

Fenris held him, rubbing his back. “It’s alright... you’re free... you’re not in the cell.”

Anders’ muffled voice spoke. “Don’t go.”

“I’m right here... I’ve got you....”

Gradually, the shaking slowed and ceased. 

“You need light?”

The tousled head nodded.

“Send up some stars.”

With a flutter of his hand, small points of light appeared near the ceiling of the cabin. 

“Better?”

Another nod.

“Good. 

The nightmares had begun several nights prior. Relatively spacious as the cabin was, the long days and nights inside had taken a toll. Although Anders was fine during the day, when night came, his dreams turned dark. 

Fenris held him, stroking his back until he drifted to sleep, once again. And even then, he continued to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was possibly my favorite chapter I've ever written, in any story. It was so much fun! 
> 
> Interesting factoid: it's called _gingering_ when it's done to an animal--such as a racehorse-- to incite it to run faster (illegal and inhumane, but it has a long history). It's called _figging_ in sex play. Go figure (no pun intended).


	26. Reawakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria Surana reveals several surprises.
> 
> Anders reveals a few surprises of his own.

“Fenris, I’d like you to meet Warden Commander Neria Surana; Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, Mistress to the Throne, Archmage of Kinloch Hold, Vanquisher of Urthemiel, Dragon Sl--”

 _“Maker’s breath,_ Anders, spare us both. Fenris, pleased to meet you.”

Anders looked on as Fenris took the proffered hand, and bobbed his head slightly. “The pleasure is mine, Warden Commander.” 

They’d arrived at Soldier’s Peak three days prior, after an uneventful journey along The Northern Road. They’d both suffered a brief bout of land-sickness, following more than a week on stormy seas, but that had been the worst to befall them. Neria’s map had been accurate, and the path clear. They’d been pleasantly surprised to find they were expected, with rooms awaiting them. 

The Dryden brothers had created a comfortable station in the old Warden Keep. While not overrun with traffic, enough traders arrived to warrant offering room and board. The family was close-knit, and sprawling; children ran amuck over the the territory close to the fortress, with spouses involved in a variety of domestics and trade-work. Fortunately, this included cold weather gear. Boots and cloak for Fenris, and gloves for both. 

As they’d explored the area, Anders experienced several moments of nostalgia. The snow-covered hills reminded him of his childhood in the farmlands of the Frostback foothills. Waking in the morning to the sight of snow on the trees, and livestock lowing in the stables was like a moment out of time. They'd spent days canvassing the area and playing cards in the library; waiting on Neria's arrival.

She'd shown up unexpectedly on the third morning, simply appearing next to their breakfast table. One moment they were eating porridge, the next she was there. 

He’d forgotten how tiny she was. She barely came to his shoulder, and was lithe in the way only elves could be. Yet, for all her lack of stature, she conveyed confidence and assurance few people could. She had, after all, slain an Archdemon; and lived to tell about it. 

She hadn’t spoken, merely gazed at Anders with an indecipherable expression. He’d never been nervous around her before, yet seeing her there, he shot out of his chair, knocking it over with a clatter, stammering.

“C-comman-- Neria... I... didn’t see you....”

Her expression had turned to a frown, head tilting in confusion. He had no idea what to make of it. Fenris had stood, close enough to brush shoulders, and his nervousness fled. He took command of his voice, and introduced Fenris to the woman he owed so much, and had repaid so poorly.

A decidedly pleased sensation flowed through him. Justice. The spirit remembered and recognized his friend from years past. He was surprised; Justice rarely acknowledged the people in Anders’ life. Of course, Neria was one of the few they’d known as separate beings.

“I’ve never seen you so nervous, Anders,” she said. “Is that how you greet all old friends?”

“I... I... don’t meet a lot of... old friends.”

“I imagine not, what with abandoning them without explanation.”

He cringed, biting his lip. He deserved that; he knew he did. Fenris didn’t seem to think so.

“Circumstances were beyond his control,” he said smoothly. “He does not make a habit of abandoning friends.”

“Would you count him as _your_ friend, then? Just how did you meet?”

Anders was confused. Either Neria had changed greatly, or he was missing something, entirely. Fenris wasn’t put off.

“I met him in the company of Marian Hawke, at a clinic he’d established to serve refugees.”

Neria seemed somewhat mollified by his reply, until she launched a lightning bolt at Anders. He flew backward, landing hard, body twitching painfully. Terrified Justice would emerge fighting, he felt only a sense of wry comprehension from the spirit; before a long unused expletive spat from his lips.

_“Andraste’s knickerweasels!”_

When his vision cleared, Anders saw her smiling; Fenris between them, blade drawn, looking confused.

He stood, smoothing down his feathers and hair, both of which were on end.

“I probably deserved that.”

“Possibly, but that’s not why you got it.” She held out her arms. “Come here, you damned apostate.”

With Fenris looking bewildered, Anders picked her up and spun them around, relieved beyond reckoning.

“I’m so happy to see you, Anders; you just don’t know.”

“And, _that’s_ how you show it?”

“I had to be sure it was really you. You don’t sound like yourself.”

He exchanged confused looks with Fenris, who’d finally put away his sword.

“How’s that?”

“You don’t know? Your voice... you don’t sound at all like you used to. I worried you were possessed, or under thrall. But, running a clinic? And, that ridiculous epithet of yours? It had to be you.”

His voice had changed? He’d think he might have noticed. Though... even Karl had looked at him strangely the first time they’d spoken in Kirkwall. Anders thought it was simply a reaction to changes wrought by the years. What else had been altered by joining with Justice?

“Right. Look... we have a lot to talk about, at some point; but maybe it should wait--”

“We’ll talk now. You owe me that much.”

He rubbed his neck, cringing at the thought of leaping into the very conversation he’d dreaded. 

Fenris finally spoke. “Are you alright with this?” he asked Anders.

He sighed. “Not exactly... it’s just not a conversation I’m excited to have. But, it's necessary.”

In the warm, vacant library, Neria sat quietly, listening as he told the story of leaving the Wardens. He’d forgotten how well she listened; with neutral expression, and the rare nod. He’d forgotten how her eyes consumed those she observed; how eerily silent she could be; how utterly at ease she was, in any situation. 

When he reached the conclusion, with his boarding a ship bound for Kirkwall, she still remained eerily silent. Anders could see her thinking over what she’d just learned, see her evaluating him, both past and present. Finally she leaned forward.

“He’s in you, now?”

“He’s always in me. We're one.”

Fenris murmured. “Not entirely.”

Anders shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“Can he hear me?”

“If I can hear you, he can hear you. He recognized you. Lucky, too, because an attack like that could bring him out.”

“And, that would be bad?”

Fenris cleared his throat, fidgeting.

“Yeah. It’s usually pretty bad. Not like the first time you just heard about, but... Neria, what are you thinking? I’ve been terrified to tell you all this.”

“I’m thinking how happy I am you’re alright... relatively speaking. I’m thinking how glad I am to finally know what happened. I’m thinking it’s too damned bad Rolan had to drag so many good men into it. I hated having him here; blighted templars. And, I’m thinking how sorry I am you and Justice have issues. You said he recognized me. Can you talk to him?”

“Not really. I feel him. Sometimes he compels me to act, without taking over. I haven’t said _knickerweasels_ in years, but he pushed it through... I think so you’d recognize me. You’re not angry? Or, tempted to turn me in to the Templars?”

Fenris got to the point of his concern. “You will not force Anders back into the Wardens?”

For the first time, she looked angry. _“Turn you in?_ Force you into the Wardens? Why in the world would you think that? I didn’t turn you in at Vigil’s Keep, and I’m sure as the Void not turning you in, now. And, the Grey Wardens don’t force their brothers into anything. No one truly leaves, in the end.”

“Yeah, but... _I killed Wardens.”_

“That’s on Rolan. Whether joined with Justice or not, you were attacked. You had every right to defend yourself.”

“I don’t understand,” Fenris said. “Was Rolan not there on your orders?”

“Not _my_ orders, no. I may be the Ferelden Commander, but it’s mostly in name”

“Why is that?” Fenris asked.

“As the only Warden to survive putting down an Archdemon, she’s earned the right to tell any, and everyone, to sod off.” Anders replied.

She shrugged. “Let’s just say I enjoy a lot of freedom. I’m not _hands on_ much of the time. As my stay at Vigil’s Keep was drawing to an end, arrangements were made to have Anders watched. So Rolan was assigned to monitor him.”

“Bastards,” Anders muttered. 

“Was this Rolan from the Ferelden Circle?” Fenris asked.

“No,” she replied. “He’d come from a Chantry destroyed by darkspawn.”

“He would have fit right in at the Gallows, though,” Anders said.

“I heard it was bad in Kirkwall,” Neria said. “Sounds like the rumors are true?”

“Worse. Neria... you know who their Knight Captain is? Remember that baby templar, Cullen? He’s all grown up, now.”

The shock on her face was more than he’d expected. 

_“Maker have mercy._ Of all the Circles and Chantries they could have sent him, what made anyone choose the Gallows?”

“Why? What-- oh, Maker’s balls, Neria. Don’t tell me the rumors about you two were true?” 

“I may have engaged in innocent flirtation....”

“With a bloody _templar??”_

“With a sweet _boy,_ too innocent for hatred.”

“Believe me, he’s no longer sweet, nor innocent. He doesn’t believe mages are even people. He’s next-in-command to the craziest zealot of a Knight Commander who ever lived.”

“During the Blight, Alistair and I rescued him from Uldred’s blood mages. He’d been tortured; I don't know how he survived, but he wasn't the same, by the time we found him. He demanded we kill every mage in the Tower. Of all places to send someone who’d been through that....” she shook her head.

“Well... flirt with him now, you’ll end up at the end of a Tranquil brand, or accused of blood magic.”

“It can’t be that bad... tell me it’s not that bad.”

“It’s that bad.”

She sighed. She looked at Fenris, then. “It’s a good thing you weren’t discovered, then. And, that you had a friend like Anders to help you.”

Fenris made a sour face, as Anders burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I guess Hawke didn’t tell you the whole story.”

They spent most of the morning simply catching up. Neria looked at Anders oddly a few times, and he wondered what she was thinking. He didn’t ask, assuming it was some other change of which he wasn't aware. 

He gave Neria a detailed account of Fenris’ abilities, and his own theories regarding his erratic learning rate.

“What you say makes sense,” she agreed. “And, you’re right. What you describe of his lyrium abilities sounds like they would outstrip most of the Arcane Warrior skill-set. But, teaching it will be a quick way to prove or disprove your theory about recalling suppressed memories.”

“Let’s take a break for a bit, and start with magic after lunch,” Anders offered.

“We'll start tomorrow. I need to do my Warden-duty, and check on Avernus. I’d just as soon get it out of the way.”

As they made their way to their quarters, Anders was lost in thought. He was immeasurably relieved by Neria’s acceptance of he and Justice, and her feelings regarding his exit from the Wardens. He was a bothered by changes she seemed to see in him.

“Copper for your thoughts.”

“I’m different, and I didn’t know it.”

“Ah. Your speech. I am no judge, having only known you as you are.”

“She kept looking at me funny, like she was seeing something else. Did you notice?”

“I noticed her expressions, yes. But, without knowledge of your behavior prior to Justice, I can’t say what caught her attention.”

“Neither can I. So... you feel alright about training with Neria?”

“I do. Better than before, certainly.”

“Good. I’m curious how you’ll do.”

“Who is this Avernus she mentioned? She referred to the name in her letter, as well.”

Anders shook his head with a rueful chuckle. “You’re _really_ not going to like Avernus.”

“Is this someone I must meet?”

“I doubt it. No one sees him but Wardens. In fact, he _is_ a Warden. A very, very old Warden. He’s a mage, who was part of a Warden rebellion over 200 years ago.”

Fenris’ eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Blood magic.”

“You’re absolutely right. Although, he’s been forbidden to use it in his research, any longer. He stays locked in the highest tower, performing experiments. Wardens check on him every so often, but otherwise, he’s left alone.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. _“Tsk.”_

“That’s all you have to say?”

“He’s a Warden problem. Just keep him out of my sight.”

Anders smiled. He was happy they’d come. The relief of knowing Neria had his back, and knowing he had nothing to fear from the Wardens, was immense. Even Justice seemed pleased. 

Once their door closed behind them, he pulled Fenris into a very enthusiastic kiss. It was returned with equal enthusiasm.

“I take it you’re happy with how your reunion went?”

“Ecstatic, really. More for you, than me. If things had gone wonky, we’d have had to leave, probably with a fight... and I really want you to get whatever training you can.”

“She did not mention force magic.”

“We’ll ask her about it, tomorrow.”

\-------------------------------

Anders slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Fenris was sleeping soundly, while Anders was a bundle of nerves. Being back in Ferelden, seeing his friend and former commander again, all they’d shared upon meeting... it had him on edge. He’d engaged Fenris in the most distracting, calming activity he knew--twice-- yet sleep still eluded him.

He stepped into the night air, fresh and brisk, and took a deep breath. 

“Still have trouble sleeping?”

He whipped around, to see Neria leaning against the wall, a few steps away.

“Sometimes. You?”

She laughed quietly, breath foggy in the chill air. “Sometimes. Tonight, I’m just missing Alistair.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry about that.”

“No. I meant what I said in my letter. I need time away from Court. I’d prefer it was _with_ him, but duty rarely allows him an escape.”

He leaned against the wall beside her, gazing at the sky. It was a clear night, and more stars were visible than at the cove. 

“You don’t care for royal life?”

“It has its ups and downs. Beats the Circle by a landslide. And of course, Alistair’s there; that’s all that really matters.”

“So... you’re happy?”

“Very.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Neria.”

“It really is strange hearing you speak, now. I think it’s a combination of your voice, and Justice’s.”

“Heh. Well. When he comes out, I’m given to understand our combined voice is... something else.”

“Can I talk to him?” 

“It doesn’t work that way. He _is_ me... more or less.”

“That’s too bad. I’d like to know he’s happy.”

“He was happy to see you. I don’t know that he’s happy, most of the time. He’s frustrated, a lot.”

“About what?”

“We haven’t freed the mages, yet. That’s our goal... my life’s work. Is it fair for you and I to live free, and not others?”

“No, it isn’t. I’ve discussed it with Alistair, many times. It’s not as easy as simply opening the doors.”

“Change is never easy, Neria. Should we consign them to imprisonment and torture because freeing them _isn't easy?”_

 _“We’re_ not consigning them, Anders. It wasn’t _our_ doing.”

“Maybe not, but no one else is _un_ doing it. You’ve really spoken to the king about mage freedom?”

“Repeatedly. He wouldn’t allow me to be locked-up again, so he sees my point. Justice has really done a number on you, hasn't he?"

Anders frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I seem to recall you were once only interested in saving your own hide. In fact, when we ran into Wynne in Amaranthine, you said pulling away from the Circle entirely was madness. That simply leaving was a recipe for disaster. And, you were right. Considering most Circle mages haven't got a clue how to live in the real world, it could be. Who would hire them? Who would house them? Who would protect them? Who would raise the children? These are the issues we need to solve, Anders." 

"I know. And, perhaps it _will_ be a disaster. But, does it matter? It's a disaster _now,_ Neria." He reigned in the expostulation building within. There would be time, later.

"Yeah. I know it is. It's strange to hear you talk this way." 

“You _do_ remember how Justice got his name?”

“How could I forget? You know, I’m surprised it was you he joined with. Nate seemed a more likely candidate.”

“You’re kidding me. _Nathaniel?”_

“They talked about it, several times. Jealous?”

“Hardly. They were of closer temperament, I suppose. Neria... you’re truly not bothered I’m an abomination?”

“Do I seem bothered? He was my friend, too. He’s no demon. And... you’re actually not the first mage I’ve met who carries a spirit.”

Anders felt his jaw drop. _“Who?”_

“Wynne.”

“Wynne? While she was at the Circle?” 

“It happened during Uldred’s take-over. But, her spirit never took over, like you say Justice does. At least, that I know of. Given we traveled together for a year, I think I’d have noticed.”

Anders was dumbfounded. “Do me a favor; don’t tell Fenris about this. He has a hard enough time with magic. If he thought random mages were walking around with spirits in them, he’d flip.”

“No worries. Your friend, Hawke, explained his background in her letter. She wanted to be sure I knew what I was getting into.”

“It was pretty hard working with him, in the beginning. But, he’s come a long way.”

Neria smirked, knowingly. “Apparently.”

Anders felt himself go warm and soft, inside. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

She shook her head. “Plenty gets past me. I’m happy for you. I always wondered if you’d find someone. You were such a flirt, but I never saw you do more than that.”

“I stuck my tongue down half the throats in the Circle.”

Neria laughed. “Didn’t we all?”

“Well, _we_ didn’t. You were under my age-boundary. Just... tell me you didn’t do more than flirt with Cullen.”

“I didn’t do more than flirt with Cullen. This is really stuck in your craw, isn’t it?”

“You should see him, now. He’s a true templar, not a stammering boy. He’s just like all the rest, waiting for any opportunity to subjugate his charges, turning a blind eye to rape and torture.”

“Maker’s breath, Anders.”

His earlier caution fled, as he strove to assure she understood the stakes. "Several years ago, they brought in a group of apostates; three were chosen at random to be made Tranquil. And, if it can happen in one Circle, it can happen in others. How many mages across Thedas are dying at templars’ hands, or their own? I know you lost companions to suicide; we all did. You and I weren’t friends, then; but you might remember what they did to me? I was driven mad in isolation, for a bloody _year._ By the same people with whom you exchanged flirtations!” 

“That’s not fair, Anders. I was a child... and so was Cullen, really.”

“Yes, I know you were a child, I don’t hold you at fault. But now, do you see the perversion of templar thinking? That any of them would look at a mage with desire, while torturing another, two rooms away? That _any_ of it is allowed, that the templars and Chantry find _any_ of it excusable, is unforgivable! If that blushing boy had decided flirtation wasn’t enough, and Maker forbid, had raped you... do you think justice would have been served? 

“Neria, change _must_ happen, and must happen _now!_ You’re one of us! And, you’re in a rare position to actually influence change. You _must_ try. _You must!”_

Neria watched him closely, quietly. “You never spoke this way, before. So... this is Justice, then?”

“This is both of us. This is our life. This is what we fight for. Yes, I’ve changed; in more than the sound of my voice. I’ve changed, because there must _be_ change! And, with Justice, I can bring it about.”

“And, Fenris? Is coming with him to Ferelden part of that justice?”

“He’s lived true slavery, and the situation with his magic put him at greater risk than many mages. He cannot go to a Circle. He cannot be imprisoned. He cannot be enslaved, again.”

“And, while you’re across the sea, helping one mage, what is happening to all those at the Gallows? Is one man’s needs more important than all the rest?”

Anger filled him, unexpected and not entirely his own. Justice joined his thoughts and voice.

“YOU WILL NOT JUDGE OUR ACTIONS! JUSTICE TAKES MANY FORMS.”

Floating in the miasma of the spirit’s possession, he saw Neria’s eyes widen, felt her magic pull to the ready. Yet, she only peered at him carefully, and spoke in a low voice.

“Justice... is it you?”

He felt the spirit falter. Justice spoke once more, voice fading partway through his statement.

“YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN our friend.”

Anders retook control, the final words spoken in his own voice. He glanced at the woman beside him, then away, rubbing his face. Neither spoke for a long while.

“Sorry about that. He’s not usually so... easily offended.”

“”Who are you trying to kid? Sure he was. Remember how he got if demons were brought up?”

Anders snorted, relieved. “I was usually the one bringing it up. Look... believe me... I’ve wondered the same thing. Why we’re so willing to spend so much time helping just one man.”

“I was out of line, Anders. Curious... but out of line.”

“It’s a fair question. I know why I want to help him. Justice, though... he’s been strangely drawn to Fenris. In the beginning, he pushed me to train him. Justice has no patience for distractions... I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Remember how he was about Kristof’s widow?” Neria asked. “He felt bad about hurting her, by possessing his corpse. You and Fenris didn’t get along, for a long time, right? Maybe, Justice felt bad about that. Maybe, he feels bad about things you went through, too... maybe even the things he caused.”

“You’re suggesting Justice is playing match-maker, because he feels bad? You really don’t know him, anymore. That’s not his style.”

“I wish I could talk to him... just him, like he was before.”

“Fenris did. They were on a mission in the Fade. Justice went without me.”

“Hmmm.”

“Oh... crap. I know that look. You won’t get Fenris back in the Fade. He had trouble with a demon’s offer, and was pretty upset about it.”

“Then, he needs to try again.”

“Neria, let it go.” Even as he said it, he knew it was futile. Neria nodded, but he knew this woman too well. He changed the subject.

“So... about force magic....”

“Oh, right. I’ve got someone coming to work with Fenris. He’s a Warden... no one you know. An Orlesian who was stationed at Vigil’s Keep after you left. He’s stopping by on his way in from a mission.”

“Terrific! I knew you’d come through.”

“It’s what I do, Anders. I take care of my own.”

“Fenris is your own? He won’t necessarily be pleased to hear that.”

 _“You_ are my own, sparkle fingers. And, taking care of Fenris is part of taking care of you.”

“Sparkle fingers! Maker’s ass... Oghren used to call me that, didn’t he? What’s that filthy dwarf up to?”

“He writes on the odd occasion. He’s in Orzammar, last I heard. He likes being a Grey Warden there. Says the nobles and warriors fight to get their noses up his ass.”

Anders laughed. He hadn’t realized how much he needed some closure regarding those with whom he’d spent his first year of real freedom.

“Tell me about the rest of the crew.”

“I was waiting for you to ask.”

They talked into the night, exchanging tales of the past, remembering friends. One particular friend, Anders was anxious to hear about.

“Do you hear from Delilah?”

“Delilah, or Pounce?”

“Well, he’s a smart kitty, but he hasn’t the thumb to hold a quill.”

“We exchange Satinalia letters each year. Pounce is very fat, and very happy. They have a house just outside Amaranthine. He runs in the fields, hunting mice. The two children dote on him. I’m guessing he likes it better than the deep roads.”

Anders nodded. “I’m glad. He deserved better than a backpack in blight-infested tunnels.”

“He was happy with you, Anders, and you know it. You’re not in the Wardens, now. You could probably take him back.

His heart skipped a beat. Yet....

“It wouldn’t be fair to him, to drag him off to the middle of some city. He’s used to running in the country, and having a family.”

Neria was giving him another strange look. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Not to consign an innocent cat to Kirkwall? Believe me, nobody deserves that.”

She jumped suddenly, and rifled through her belt pouch.

“I forgot... I have something for you. I found it at the Circle, not long after you left.”

“What were you doing in the Circle?”

“Looking for an old friend who’d gone missing. Ah. Here it is.”

He took a folded piece of parchment from her. Carefully, he opened it, eyes widening.

“Andraste’s swinging tits! I wrote this!”

“The cat gave it away. I had to keep it, in case I ever saw you again.”

Anders grinned, looking at the figures drawn in the margins of a page of notes. Stick-figure templars, being eaten by a tiger. A name printed in block letters read SER POUNCE-A-LOT. 

“I can’t believe this was still there. I can’t believe you found it. May I keep it?”

“Of course. It’s yours, after all.”

“You know, the demon I met in my Harrowing took the form of a great cat.”

“Mine took the shape of a mouse.”

_“A mouse?”_

“Yeah. _A pride demon,_ as a mouse.”

“Go figure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, clearly, when Alistair offered this version of Neria a boon at the end of DAO, freeing the Circle mages wasn't her request.
> 
> If you haven't played Witch Hunt, the page of notes with drawings in the margins is found in the library.


	27. Illumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns more about Anders' past.

“Excellent! You pick it up so fast, I can barely keep up.”

A quirk of his lips betrayed his pleasure. It was strange, learning from someone other than Anders. At first, it had been distracting. He’d had a hard time focusing on the content of Neria’s teachings, glancing at Anders for confirmation. Anders had nearly as much trouble, interjecting comments and ideas from the sidelines. 

It was no longer an issue. Neria banished Anders from their practice sessions, after three days. A banishment neither had taken easily. Both objected, arguing her proclamation with overrunning voices, until Neria silenced them both.

 _“Enough!_ Anders, you know perfectly well instructors should be varied, for just this reason. He needs experience in methods other than yours. Fenris, a mentor may do the crux of the teaching, but you need a less... _intimate..._ eye to your progress.”

Fenris had frowned. “I’d rather he stayed.”

“So would I,” Anders agreed.

“This is not up for debate.”

Anders had sworn under his breath, turned, and stomped from the clearing. Fenris had been surprised to see him back down from an argument so easily, if not gracefully. He took it as an indicator of Neria’s own obstinance, which Anders would know better than he.

As it turned out, it had been for the best. With no distraction, Fenris applied himself more diligently. It was interesting, to experience the difference in her style. Neria’s approach was similar to his own, more command than nurture. And given the style of magic with which they worked, it was well-suited.

Anders’ prediction had proved correct. Fenris picked-up Arcane Warfare quickly, and with relative ease. It felt like putting on an old pair of leggings; easy, comfortable, and familiar. 

Although he already possessed abilities comparable to Arcane Warrior spells, she taught him those, as well. She was curious about the lyrium markings, yet didn’t focus on them, which pleased him. Everyone always focused on the markings, and it was pleasant to have them take the background. 

What pleased him most, however, was the arrival of the Warden force mage, Arnaud. He had only a few days to spare before continuing on his journey. But, in those few days, he taught both Anders and Fenris the basics of large scale force magic and control. Neria sat in, as well; for when the Arnaud had gone, she continued his training. After they returned to Kirkwall, Anders would pick-up where she’d left off. For now, he was once again banned from the training area.

As with Arcane Warfare, force magic came quickly, once the principles were grasped. On a hillside far from the fortress, rock piles and log jams blew apart. Holes were blasted in the frozen ground. Debris from the explosions were then gathered with a pull of the abyss, and blasted apart, again. He had excess power, but needed better control. Neria was astounded. 

“Now I know why Anders wanted someone to work with you. You’re both a marvel and a menace.”

“Yes. I am grateful to have the teaching. I was not comfortable with the power I possess.”

“Are you, now?”

“I... am not. Perhaps I never will be. But, at least I can make myself less dangerous. Already, I feel the difference.”

“Anders has done a remarkable job teaching you. Are you as invested in freeing mages as he is?”

Not long ago, Fenris would have laughed. Now....

“It is complicated. I have seen the horrors of the Gallows. I’ve heard Anders’ impassioned oration. Yet... I’ve also known the tyranny of free mages.”

“I’m a free mage. Would you call me tyrannical?”

“You are commanding, but no. Do you wish to see mages freed?”

“Yes, I do. I’ve never seen the kind of injustices you and Anders have. Being imprisoned, without hope or choice... that’s bad enough. But, Kinloch Hold was... mild, I suppose. Well... for the most part.”

“You’re in a position to push for such freedom, are you not?”

“Maker, you’ve been talking to Anders. Yes, I certainly have Alistair’s ear; along with the rest of him. And, he’s sympathetic to the situation. But even as king, he needs the support of the country’s nobility to enact such a change. And, to garner that support, a lot of difficult concessions must be met. Concessions which are met with fear and resistance. Believe me, it’s an ongoing battle. One hindered by the Circle and Chantry, both.”

“You knew Anders in the Circle, did you not?”

She smiled, nodding. “You and I have his teaching in common, did you know? He taught me, when I was an apprentice.”

Fenris was surprised. “He has not mentioned it.”

“I doubt he even remembers. I was just one young face in a crowd. I think he was guiding us in focus, or some such thing. He’s at least twelve years my senior, so we didn’t move in the same social groups. Now that I think of it, he didn’t really have a social group. He was outgoing, always full of cheek... but a bit of a loner.”

“He said he refused to let the Circle become his home. He would not lose another, as he’d lost Karl.”

“Karl? I don’t remember him.”

“They were very close. He was sent to the Gallows after his Harrowing. After Anders traveled to Kirkwall, they reconnected. Karl was made Tranquil for communicating with him.”

 _“Andraste wept._ Tranquil, for _that?”_

“Harrowed mages are made Tranquil as punishment or example. Even the Tranquil are subject to the same abuse other mages endure. Anders does not exaggerate the horrors of the place.”

Neria backed up, and sat on a fallen log. Fenris sat beside her.

“How does he manage? He doesn’t do well with stress.”

Fenris frowned. True, Anders felt things, deeply. Yet, her tone implied something more. “What do you mean?”

Her brow furrowed in thought. “Has he ever spoken of his time in solitary confinement?”

“He has. It was a cruel punishment.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I was about sixteen, not yet Harrowed. I didn’t know him well, but in a Circle, you learn about people. He was famous for his escapes. Each time he ran, we all quietly rejoiced. We lived vicariously through him. 

“Even if he didn’t run with a group, he was well-liked. He had that cocky charm, you know? Handsome, and friendly, always with a ready grin. Then... things changed. When they brought him back from his last escape, he was paraded through the Circle. In retrospect, I think the templars _wanted_ us to see him, so there was no doubt who was thrown into the cell. 

“We didn’t know how long he’d been sentenced to confinement. He went in... and just never came out. Weeks went by... then months. When he failed to emerge, word spread he’d been executed. Yet, the cell door remained closed, and templars stationed outside. Worse, there were nights he could be heard screaming. Maker, it was awful. The littlest ones cried; some of the older ones, too.

“Then one day, he just... reappeared. We went to the dining hall for a meal, and there he was. Sitting hunched in a corner, rocking, whispering to himself. There was no charm, no grin. He was a shadow of himself. I didn’t see him much, except at meals. When I did... he wasn’t right. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He talked to himself, his moods were erratic. One week, rumors said he was despondent; the next, frenzied. Templars tailed him, constantly. It was heartbreaking, to see what had become of him. What we knew could become of any of us.

“After a while, he seemed to improve. I’d see him working with healers, or talking to other mages. It was about that time I was recruited into the Grey Wardens. I didn’t think of Anders again, until when we ran into each other at Vigil’s Keep.”

“He’s spoken of that meeting,” Fenris said. “He says he owes you his life.”

“He doesn’t owe me a thing. After what was done to him, he deserves any chance he can get. He was better than I’d seen him; he seemed to have overcome his time in confinement. He was outgoing, and the cocky charm was back. But, during the time we worked together, there were little... well, I’m not sure how to describe it. Sometimes he’d talk _non-stop,_ and would be up at all hours of the night. At other times, he seemed almost dark. And, he kind of... _blurted._ He’d say odd things. Nothing scary, certainly, but it put off some of our companions. Still, he performed his duties, so I didn’t worry overmuch about it. 

“At least, until we spent extended time in the deep roads. He became jumpy, and short-tempered, and woke with nightmares. Now, we all had darkspawn nightmares, but his were something else. I can’t tell you Fenris, how bad a nightmare has to be, to rival darkspawn dreams. That’s when I started to worry. A Grey Warden spends a lot of time in the deep roads, after all. And, if he couldn’t function as a Warden, it was possible he’d be sent back to the Circle.

“Then, he told me about a cat that visited him while in solitary confinement.”

Fenris nodded. “Mr. Wiggums. It kept him sane, he said. Until it was possessed, and killed several templars.”

Neria looked at him sadly. “Fenris, after his release, the cell was left open. As a reminder to the rest of us, I’m sure. My friend, Jowan, dared me to go inside. It was so small, with only a high, glass window for light. And, the door-slot for meals was locked, to keep him from seeing out.”

Fenris frowned, considering her words. “You mean to say, a cat couldn’t have gotten in.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And believe me, if a possessed cat had killed a templar, the news would have spread like wildfire. It never happened.”

“He imagined the whole thing?” Fenris remembered Anders telling of the voices he heard, of demons coming to visit. Yet, he’d known they weren’t real. The cat, he believed was truly there.

“He had to have. Regardless, all I cared when he told me the story, was how happy the memory made him. So, when I found a kitten on the Keep grounds, I gave it to him.”

“Ser Pounce-a-lot,” Fenris said. 

She nodded, with a smile. “It was the best decision I ever made. He loved that kitten, doted on it, took it everywhere. Even in the tunnels, Pounce was with him. And Fenris... it made _a world of difference._ I won’t say it was a cure-all, but he suffered so much less. He was calmer. Even his nightmares settled.”

“And yet, he says the Wardens made him give it up.”

She swore under her breath. “I was gone on a mission, when the order came through. Apparently, word of Pounce had gotten out, and some prig in Weisshaupt decided traveling with a cat made the Wardens look soft. Weisshaupt’s big on image; all about grim, they are. Nate’s sister took it in. Anders didn’t respond well. I’ll bet that’s part of what pushed him to join with Justice. 

“To be honest, from what I’ve seen since you arrived, Justice is doing an even better job at leveling his mood than Pounce did. Watching him now, listening to him, it’s striking.”

That was just what the spirit had said, in the Fade; it leveled Anders’ highs and lows. He thought about Neria’s words as he made his way to the fortress. Anders had described events from his own perspective. But, even Anders wasn’t aware of the full damage he’d suffered during that year. 

The strength it had taken for Anders to do as well as he had, was considerable. And, the degree to which the spirit was apparently aiding him, far more than Fenris had credited. Perhaps he owed it more than grudging acceptance. Perhaps... he owed it his thanks. 

Nearing the fortress, he caught sight of Anders amidst a gaggle of children. They were laughing, clamoring for his attention, tugging at his sleeves. He was covered in snow, hair disheveled; he’d clearly spent the afternoon playing with the youngsters. A small child stumbled in the ruckus, was caught by the mage’s hands, and swung onto his shoulders.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, Fenris watched as he laughed, smile bright in the fading light. That this laughter, this warmth, could have been snuffed... he shivered. Anders was a rare man, a _good_ man. Yet, because he could not bear to live caged, he was hunted. Because he was broken by the Circle’s punishment, they would make him Tranquil. 

A woman’s voice called from a distance, and the children shouted farewells, running through the snow toward the fortress. An older boy took the child from Anders’ shoulders, and suddenly, the mage stood alone. His smile slowly faded, and even at a distance, Fenris saw his chest rise and fall in a heavy sigh. He began brushing at the snow on his robe and pauldrons.

Anders looked up, smile reappearing, as he approached. Without a word, Fenris helped brush away the snow. 

“How was today’s lesson?” Anders asked.

“Illuminating. How was your afternoon?”

“Energetic.”

“The children enjoy your company.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

Fenris took the cold cheeks in his gloved hands. “Anyone is fortunate, to share your company.”

Anders smirked, hands covering his. “Again... there’s no accounting for taste.”

Would this man ever _truly_ recognize his own worth?

Throughout supper, throughout fireside conversation with Neria, Fenris could barely look away from him. Laughter rolled around him, tales from the Circle and Wardens, and still he watched Anders. His mind repeatedly envisioned him locked in the darkness of the cell; locked in the darkness of his own despair. Memories flashed through Fenris’ mind; of Anders’ laughter, of sunlight in his hair, of a frozen moment of flight above the cove’s water. Images of him in rapture, bright hair fanned against the sheets, limbs clinging to Fenris’ striving body.

Later, Fenris held him. Trying, as he had so many times, to absorb Anders into the core of him. He wanted that bright joy, that dark pain, and everything in between. 

Lips took his, soft and slow. Words whispered against them.

“What is it, Fenris?”

He sighed. He didn’t know how to describe what he felt. He didn’t know if he should. But, Anders had asked.

“I want to take you into my soul.”

“It’s impossible, you know.”

“It’s not meant in a literal--”

“It’s impossible, because you _already_ inhabit my soul. I may carry a spirit, but it’s you who have possessed me.”

His lungs emptied. _This man._

“I am truly yours.”

Anders’ face shone with unspoken emotion. The gentle kiss resumed; soft, and sweet, and unhurried. Even in the chilly mountains, they slept nude. Under a pile of blankets and quilts, they shared their warmth, skin-to-skin. Their touch had become addictive, and any private moment found hands learning and relearning one another.

As the kiss continued, the sweetness grew. He’d have expected the gentleness to be overwhelmed by passion, but not this time. Arousal certainly filled him, oddly in sync with the sweetness. It was somewhat reminiscent of the first time Anders had taken him. 

“Fenris... touch me.”

Anders’ whisper was faint, as though loathe to break the soft silence. Hand slowly tracing down the light fur of his chest and belly, Fenris sighed into the kiss. Yes... he wished to give Anders pleasure. He would be pleasured in return, unreservedly and well; but the feel of him, writhing at his touch, was matchless.

His indolent fingers trailed down the line of fine hair below his navel, and threaded into the thicker patch of auburn curls at the base of his shaft. He first traced a delicate line along Anders’ sack, the skin warm and loose. He felt it tighten as he tickled, stroking around and wrapping above the delicate orbs inside. He gently pulled, feeling the chest against his stutter. Their kiss continued without interruption.

Hand sliding slowly to pass his palm up the length of swollen flesh, he felt another stutter. Running a palm over the leaking head brought a moan into the kiss, and an exploring tongue. Anders took his hand, palm to palm, a tiny burst of magic leaving them slick. Fenris grasped the turgid shaft, and made a lazy stroke.

Another moan vibrated into their kiss. This slow, sweet pleasure was exquisite. Fenris was hard, and wanting, and patient. He would bring Anders to sobbing need, before they were done. Anders took him in hand, as well, and he doubted his goal. Slow slides up his cock, over the glans, and down, again. Slow, repeated, slick, friction. Slow, searching, sweet kiss. Tremulous, gasping breath. Fenris’ groans joined Anders’.

It wasn’t long before he felt another tiny burst of magic. He knew it was directed at Anders’ entrance; he always asked before directing it at Fenris. Without hesitation, he slid his hand away from the hard shaft in his hand, and carefully delved into the tight, slick hole. 

Anders moaned louder, as Fenris found the pleasure center within. With careful attention, he set Anders trembling. 

The beautiful kiss was broken as the mage cried out. Fenris was more than mollified for the loss, listening as Anders groaned, again, and again. This was what he’d wanted; to give pleasure to the man who’d had so little. To somehow make up for his past, by enhancing his present.

As he held held him, feeling both their pleasure grow, a thought tickled his mind. He’d once utilized the markings in a variety of ways, to please those who’d commanded him. He’d never used those tricks with Anders, but now... he wished to. 

He recalled Anders saying Justice liked the lyrium in his skin. The spirit itself had said it sang. Perhaps it would enjoy this, if in a way other than Anders would. 

“May I try something new?” he whispered. Anders nodded, panting. 

Continuing his touch within Anders’ body, he lit the lyrium markings of his caressing fingers. The reaction was spectacular.

Anders howled, arching off the bed. Eyes aglow, skin broken through with Fade light, his voice resonated with the spirit. Instead of raging bellows, or demands for justice, mage and spirit writhed against him, voice moaning with intense, overwhelming pleasure.

Fenris hadn’t expected _this._ He’d anticipated increased pleasure for Anders, and an unseen, enjoyable experience for the spirit. This... was something else. Clearly, Anders was enjoying it, and the spirit as well. Although surprised, Fenris saw no danger... and no reason to stop. 

Sparks flared in the air around them, rare accidental magic from Anders. He’d splayed his limbs, head thrown back, moans and cries echoing from his throat. His hips rocked, thrusting against his hand. Profuse fluid dribbled from his flushed and swollen cock, balls tight in their sack.

Words formed out of the desperate cries; alternating between the voices of Anders and the spirit. 

“Fenris... what... _THE SONG..._ Maker... don’t stop... _I FEEEEEL..._ I’m... we’re... _oh, fuck... UNNNNGGGGGHHHHHH!!”_

Blinding Fade light exploded from Anders. It cascaded through Fenris’ markings, setting them alight, flooding his body with rapture. With a single, euphoric shout, he climaxed; pulsing with unearthly pleasure.

The light slowly died, leaving only the two men shuddering in each other’s arms. Anders swallowed, gasping for air.

“Fenris... what did you _do?”_

“I... activated the lyrium on my fingers. You are... alright?”

 _“Sweet Maker..._ I don’t know what I am. Justice... he emerged. He... we... _climaxed.”_

“So I noticed.”

Anders pulled him close, and kissed him soundly. “What made you try it?”

“I... ah.... It was poorly considered, in a moment of sentiment.”

“A moment of... are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Hardly.”

Anders looked down at their bodies, saw twin trails of spend. He looked at Fenris strangely. 

“He’s startled. Confused. And blissed. _Really blissed.”_

“Not angry?”

“Hardly. Look... you iced the room.” With a wave of his hand, the ice disappeared.

Fenris was less concerned with his accidental magic than accidentally dragging the spirit into its first sexual venture. He’d thought it would simply enjoy the song of lyrium. Apparently, combined with Anders‘ pleasure, it had been an overwhelming sensation. 

“I regret disturbing it,” he admitted. “I would not force any creature into such participation.”

A slow smile spread across Anders‘ flushed face. “You’re worried about Justice.”

“It affects you, Anders. Upsetting it does not end well.”

“This ended _very well._ He’s not upset. It was simply a new experience for him. He’s feeling better about it by the minute.”

“And you?”

“Incredible. Fenris... you’re always full of surprises.”

“Few pleasant ones.” He thought of stories from his past, that had so hurt Anders to hear.

Anders blinked at him, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry... I must have you mistaken for someone else. I was thinking of the elf who courted me, with gifts and surprises, for a week. You know, the same one who rebuilt my cot at the cove, so I’d fit? Maybe you remember him by the lightning glass that hangs about my neck.”

“That’s very different from risking a Fade spirit’s defensive response by lighting my lyrium markings.”

Anders grinned, dropping a kiss on the end of his nose.

“Your best gifts have involved light. Remember when you joined me in creating our own stars, on the diving rock? Remember surprising me with your rooftop view of the stars? Even the way you remind me to make stars, after a nightmare.”

“We already have plenty of light in our lives,” he muttered. “Lyrium and Fade. We’re each trapped in the web of their light.”

“Good or ill, it’s part of who we are. That you combined our light in a rhapsody of pleasure is but one more gift of light you give.”

Anders kissed him again, the slow, sweet kiss that had started it all. Then he paused, whispering against his lips.

“How you possess me, luminous one.”

\---------------------------------

Fenris spun about, ducking the incoming projectiles. With a swing of his arm, he conjured and sent his own back at his attackers. Footsteps approached behind him, and he cast again, freezing them in their tracks. Spinning once more, he pushed at a large, frozen ball arcing toward him. It exploded, showering him in snow. 

Another volley descended on him, and without thinking, cast. The dozen snowballs halted in mid-air, then flew back the way they’d come. Screams and childish laughter greeted the attack, as the Dryden children were laid to waste by snowballs of their own making. He smirked, and turned to see Anders standing knee-deep in a mound of ice.

“The ground shakes when you run, mage.”

“We’re not _all_ feather-light elves.”

Fenris chuckled. When it came to war games, he and Neria had a stealthy advantage, simply by virtue of their race. 

Deciding he should become less dependent on his blade, Neria devised a series of battles, in which he could use only his magic. Often against just her, or including Anders, he was fast growing accustomed to casting spells in battle. He worked with force magic as well, though more slowly, unwilling to unleash it without careful application.

The children had begun sitting at a distance, watching the mages work. Finally, deciding Fenris needed to relax, she’d suggested an all-against-one snowball fight. The youngsters were to remain behind a low wall of snow Fenris created, and launch attacks at a distance. Anders and Neria were allowed only snow for weapons and defense. In fact, even now, Anders still stood anchored, not dispelling the ice that locked him in place. 

It didn’t stop him from grasping Fenris by the cloak, and pulling him in for a sound kiss. Once released, Fenris smirked, and turned to the children, who laughingly brushed snow from their faces.

“This one’s joined his enemy,” he called, jerking a thumb at Anders. “Teach him the price of treason.”

With mighty bellows and screeches, the horde of youngsters overran their wall, and charged Anders. Neria appeared at Fenris’ elbow, grinning as the mage was tackled, laughing and wrestling as best he could while still locked in place.

Neria took pity, and dispelled the ice, causing Anders to fall under the press of children. Fenris listened to his laughter, vicarious joy filling him at the sound of it.

“That stop and reverse with the snowballs was something else, Fenris,” Neria said. “It’s not a spell I’ve seen.”

“I’m not sure how I did it. I just thought of what I needed, and it happened.”

“You’re thinking magically... that’s good. Better than good. It’s an important step, that you should think so quickly and strategically with magic.”

Fenris frowned, nodding. 

“You still don’t like having magic, do you?”

“I will never like having magic. But, it does not follow I’m ungrateful for your assistance. I’m more grateful than I can express.”

“No one’s happy to discover they’re a mage. That comes later.”

“So Anders tells me.”

Anders struggled from the ground, numerous hands tugging him upright. He was completely covered in snow; hair, face, clothes. The youngsters began pounding him, to knock the snow off. With a yelp, Anders cupped his groin, which had just received an ill-placed thump from a small child. 

“I was hoping to ask you a favor,” she began.

“Name it.”

“I’d like to speak with Justice, as himself.”

Fenris cut a glance at her. “You wish to go into the Fade. That’s up to Anders.”

“I hoped you would go with me.”

“You don't need me.”

“In theory, no. Yet, you need to face demons, again--.”

“No.”

“Should you encounter them in the Fade, they’ll smell your previous defeat, and use it against you. You need to face a demon, and defeat it.”

He squirmed inside. He saw the truth in her words, but the memory of his last betrayal was like a dark abyss in his gut.

“I... see your point. Who would perform this ceremony, if both you and Anders go to the Fade?”

“Avernus.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I know he’s creepy....”

“He is a blood mage. We will be at his mercy, while in the Fade.”

“He’s first a Warden, Fenris. He’s been ordered to desist with blood magic, and he has.”

“Then, explain his continued existence. Without blood magic, should he not have died?”

“He _is_ dying, albeit slowly.”

“Fenris?” Anders was beside him now, the children caught up in a game of their own. “What’s wrong?”

“That blood mage _will not_ send us into the Fade.”

_“Neria!”_

“It was just a suggestion.”

“I will _not_ be a helpless participant in a ritual performed by a blood mage,” Fenris asserted. “He could do anything, while our bodies remain inert in this world.”

Anders gazed at him intently, brow furrowed. 

“You know... I could cast a sigil about us. Any magic other than that from the ritual would activate it, waking us. And, if any action was taken against my mortal form, Justice would sense it, and return. I can safeguard us, Fenris.”

“I can back his safeguards with my own, as well,” Neria offered.

Fenris frowned. He owed Neria a great deal; both of them did. She’d come here at some inconvenience, to teach him a lost art no one else could. She’d accepted Anders, with Justice, and absolved his guilt for the battle that sent him from Ferelden. She’d shed much needed light into Anders’ past, giving Fenris insight only she could have possessed.

He could do this thing, that needed doing, and repay her kindness. She, Anders, and the spirit could all benefit from this meeting. And perhaps, so could he.

He sighed. “Very well. We will go into the Fade.”

Neria smiled hugely, but Anders was sober.

“Fenris... I know how your last visit upset you--”

“I will not fail, this time. I will kill the demon before it can make an offer, and be done.”

“It’s not always that easy. Demons sense your weakness, as well as your desire. Something about them... draws you in.”

Neria agreed. “Fighting and killing isn’t always cut-and-dried, in the Fade. Demons muddle your thinking. They appear in disguise. You need to stay focused.”

He nodded. He would not fail, again.

\---------------------------

He stood in the eery not-light, hearing the eery not-wind. The Fade’s reproduction of Soldier’s Peak was before them, not quite right. Portions of the fortress floated, disconnected. The forge hung inverted above the ground. Faint outlines of battling figures appeared and disappeared, uninterested in their presence. 

He turned to Neria, who looked about her, nose wrinkled.

“I hate the Fade,” she said. “I was trapped here once, by a sloth demon. It was like some awful puzzle that took an eternity to complete.”

They both turned to the third member of their party. Wearing Anders’ face and form, stood Justice. Eyes whirling pools of light, skin cracked through with Fade glow, he calmly regarded them both. 

“Commander... it is good to see you, again.”

Neria grinned. “It’s very good to see you, Justice.”

Fenris nodded to her, and moved away. He stayed in visual range, affording her privacy to speak with her former companion. He examined his surroundings, casting glances at the pair. The Fade felt different here than it had when he’d gone through with Hawke. He touched the snow underfoot... it wasn’t cold. In fact, it had hardly any texture, at all. 

It seemed a long time before he sensed Justice beside him. The energy he emitted was, by now, familiar.

“I would speak with you,” the spirit said. 

“As would I, with you.”

“You did not wish to return to the Fade. I am grateful you did. I am pleased to see my friend, once more.”

“I owe her a great deal. This is some measure of repayment.”

“It is appropriate. I do not imagine I will have such an opportunity, again.”

Fenris looked at the spirit before him; at once so familiar, and so alien. He had many questions, and no idea how to ask them. Was this the demon he was to face? Or, was this a benevolent being? Before he could put his thoughts to words, the spirit spoke.

“I am grateful for the aide my former companion rendered, while I was new to the mortal world. I am, likewise, grateful for your part in Anders’ well-being.”

Fenris was surprised. “You play the greater part, than I.”

“You bring him peace. You allow him to face and defeat pains I cannot.”

“Is that why you’re so disposed toward his aiding me?”

“You require justice on several fronts. I would see you have it.”

“Why do you help him... leveling his highs and lows?”

“It is just. It also aides him in our cause, to be without its effect.”

“Spending so much time helping me... this delays bringing justice to mages.”

“You are a distraction, it is true. Yet, he has become more invested, knowing you are at risk. In this way, you aide our cause. In time, you may act more directly to do so.”

“And, if I don’t?”

“It matters not. You will come to assist Anders in ways I cannot.”

What did that mean? He would help whether or not he wished to? Or, he’d help Anders in some other way? He decided it was the spirit’s personal impression, rather than prescience, and let it go. He needed to broach a topic that was fairly uncomfortable. 

“I... may have included you in an experience not of your choosing. I regret doing so.”

“I do not understand.”

He huffed. “When... I _sang..._ and you _felt.”_

“Ah. Yes. It was confusing, as my first such experience. However, I found it was agreeable. I better understand mortal needs.”

He bit back a smirk. It had been agreeable for Anders, as well. Then, he frowned, knowing he’d pleasured what might possibly be a demon. 

“Are you....”

“Yes?”

“... truly _not_ a demon?” He realized it was a ridiculous question. A demon in disguise won’t admit to its true nature, simply because it was asked.

“You tell me.”

Fenris was taken aback by this answer. It didn’t sound like the sort of reply Justice would give. Although... it did sound like Anders. 

“At times you seem so; when you are overcome by anger.”

“Do you not have times you are overcome by anger?”

He couldn’t argue with that. “I... suppose I do.”

“Justice is not a pretty ideal, to simper and sigh. Yet, I am no demon. A demon would seek your deepest desires, and dangle them before you like bait.”

“Did you not do so, when you joined with Anders?”

“His deepest desire is something I could not give, even were he to ask.”

“And, what is that?”

“Of what does he speak with most longing? What loss does he most lament? What, when taken from him, planted the seed of hatred within?”

Fenris thought. Freedom, clearly. Yet... when he spoke of that which had been taken, Anders' memories were more specific than that. The only things he spoke of with longing were his mother and father, his childhood home, his village.

“Family. Home.”

“Correct. His parents, Mutti’s cooking. Because he cannot have these, he instead fights for the freedom for all mages.” 

_Mutti’s cooking?_ Fenris was again surprised by the spirit’s answer. He hadn’t been so familiar when discussing Anders, before. Justice wore Anders’ face, as during their first meeting. Yet, something in his demeanor had changed. A cock of the hip, or set of his shoulders. He _moved_ like Anders. 

Fenris considered what he’d seen of demons loose in the world, and in the Fade. A demon would have given Anders his dearest wish, constructed a facsimile to lull him, and taken what it wanted from him. 

Neria had worked with this being for nearly a year. She was certain it was not a demon. A demon wouldn’t bother calming Anders’ erratic moods. It wouldn’t be pleased to meet an old friend. These little quirks Justice was showing; mannerisms and references so like Anders... they showed the spirit was influenced by his host, just as Anders had been influenced by him.

Justice was often overwhelmed by alien emotion, and had trouble with matters of grey, as Anders had said. But even to Fenris, one thing was now very clear.

“You are no demon.”

“You don’t say?”

Joining Neria, it didn’t take long to find what they were looking for. The desire demon stood before him, its bizarre beauty and grace the stuff of nightmares. It swayed slightly, in a beckoning dance.

“Ahhhhh... and what desires might I fulfill for a slave who’s slipped his collar? Freedom? Power? Revenge?”

He sneered. He would not fall prey to that offer, again. He would ensure his own freedom. 

“No? Perhaps you desire another’s happiness, above your own? Perhaps you desire what you no longer remember, yet another desires greatly...”

As he wondered of what it spoke, a pocket of mist cleared, and a scene played-out before him. The interior of a cottage, a family about a table. Anders, with a young child in his lap. An older man and woman he didn’t know, with smiles like Anders’. They laughed together. Fenris watched as another figure entered the scene... a replica of himself. It stroked the child's hair, leaned over to kiss Anders. 

Yes... if he could return Anders to his family, he would. If he could give him his own child, he would. Yet... he knew all of this was impossible. Why was he standing here, watching such fiction, when he should be killing the demon?

“Fenris!”

He turned in surprise. Anders was moving toward him. Not Justice. _Anders..._ smiling and waving to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Where is Justice?”

“He’s decided to remain in the Fade. I’m free of him, Fenris!”

“I... don’t understand. He just spoke of the continuing fight for mage freedom--”

“The fight has been sufficiently begun. Others can carry it on from here.”

“But... this is your--”

Anders grabbed his shoulders, laughing. “Fenris! Don’t overthink this! We’re both free! We can go anywhere we want, do anything we desire. We can forget the Circle, and templars, and slavers.”

It... made sense. The fight _was_ well underway. Anders had done enough. He no longer needed to risk himself. If he wished to leave it behind, Fenris would not stop him. He looked into the smiling eyes. Yes... leave it all behind. Live in peace, in safety, in freedom... together.

“What will we do?” he asked.

“What _couldn’t_ we do?” Anders declared. “We could stay here... Neria would grant us both her protection.”

“Could we go to the cove, again?”

Anders threw his head back, laughing. “Of course! We’ll take supplies for a year; and swim, and laugh, and share pleasure. We’ll live for ourselves for once, not for others.”  
Fenris felt his heart lift. To live without care, without fear, without fighting, without responsibility--

His heart fell, again. This was wrong. It was all wrong.

“No.”

Anders’ smile faltered. “What?”

“Justice would not abandon his sworn mission. Anders has never put himself before another. _Begone, demon.”_

“Demon? Fenris... I’m no demon. I know the Fade makes you paranoid, but--”

“You are not Anders. You are a demon, tempting me into a fantasy.”

“Fenris... please. Come with me. We can be happy.”

“I said _NO.”_ And, with his newly refined force magic, he slammed the demon to the ground.

Immediately, memories filled his mind. Memories of attacking Anders on the beach. Attacking him when his back was turned. He quailed, looking at the limp form, hesitating to attack again. Anders’ face looked up at him in confusion.

“Fenris... _why?”_

It wasn’t Anders, he told himself. _It wasn’t Anders!_

 _“Get up!”_ he commanded. _“Fight!”_

It struggled to it’s feet, every sound and movement Anders’. “I won’t fight you, Fenris. Let’s talk about this.”

He steeled himself, and attacked again, this time with his blade. It clutched it’s belly, blood spilling from the wound, Anders’ face a portrait of agony. 

“Fenris... _please..._ don’t do this....”

 _“FIGHT ME!”_

He struck out again... and again... and again. With magic and blade, he assailed the creature with the beloved face and form. The demon never fought back, never lifted a hand in defense. It was thrown across the ground, stabbed, frozen, sliced. Each time, lifting Anders’ battered face to him in entreaty. 

The memories of Anders on the beach were joined by memories of Fog Warriors, cut down at Danarius’ command. A shout of despair tore his throat. 

_“Fight! Stand, and fight me!”_

A broken hand reach out to him. “Fenris... please....”

He staggered. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look into Anders’ pleading, wrecked visage, and attack again.

“Fenris,” Anders’ voice rasped. “I love you.”

His head shot up. Honey-colored eyes, filled with pain and yearning. He sighed, nodding, and crossed the distance to the crumpled form. He took the shattered hand gently in his own. Anders’ voice spoke again.

“I love you....”

“I know.” The hand in his froze solid. “I know he does... so much, he would slit his own throat before uttering those words.”

Ice shot up the demon’s arm, its entire body frozen solid in an instant. The crystalline face snarled in furious disbelief. Fenris stepped back. 

_“Die, demon!”_

With a blast of energy, the creature exploded into a thousand pieces. 

Waking in the fortress tower, he was drawn upright and enfolded in an embrace. 

“Justice showed me your battle with the demon,” Anders whispered. “You defeated it.”

“It refused to fight, Anders. How can I defeat a creature that refuses to fight?”

Anders pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “It didn’t need to fight you... you were fighting yourself. It used your fears and weaknesses to tempt you. It let you beat yourself down.”

He blinked in surprise. So it had. Even so, he had nearly succumbed. He pulled away from Anders’ arms.

“I was not strong. I nearly submitted. Seeing you... attacking you.... _fasta vass.”_

“Fenris, it’s not easy to face a demon. They’re strong and smart. But, you were stronger and smarter.”

“Congratulations, Fenris,” Neria said, taking him in a quick embrace. “You passed your Harrowing.”

He looked at her in surprise. “This was a Harrowing?”

Anders shrugged. “You could call it that. There’s no templars standing over you to kill you at the slightest misstep, but it’s close enough. If it was a Harrowing, you passed with flying colors.”

“All Circle mages are required to experience what I did?”

Neria replied. “Everyone’s experience is different, but yes. Templars take you to fight for your life, or to sunder your mind. You don’t know which it will be.”

“It is evil, and unjust,” Anders said. “There’s no reason apprentices should meet a demon for the first time, alone. They should have support with them, as Neria and Justice were with you. Anyway... it’s unlikely you’ll have such a difficult meeting with a demon, again.”

Neria slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a proper mage, by Circle standards!” Anders rolled his eyes.

“And, what does this afford me?” Fenris asked.

“Now, you’ve got all the rights and privileges of any fully fledged mage.”

She and Anders looked at each other, then sputtered into laughter. Fenris was briefly confused, then nodded. Ah, yes. Mages have no rights or privileges; neither inside the Circle, nor out.

He began to realize how far he’d come, in less than two years. He’d overcome his revulsion of the magic within him. He’d learned to control it, and reclaimed the powers taken from him. He’d met a demon on its own ground, and defeated it. He was now a Harrowed mage; a danger only if he wished to be. He was skilled. And capable. And strong.

_And free._

\-------------------------------------------

“Apostates!”

_“Apostates!”_

Storytelling had taken over the evening, as it often did. The stories were interrupted with toasts, each time their cups were refilled. So far, they’d toasted mages, the King’s health, ale, cats, Bethany Hawke, cheese, lightning, a Grey Warden named Duncan, Nathaniel Howe’s ass, and now apostates.

Neria continued her slightly tipsy narration of Anders’ lost drinking match.

“The next morning, we’re all hung-over, stumbling down the stairs. And there, passed-out before the statue of Andraste, lay Anders; naked as the day he was born. And, from Our Lady’s upraised hand, hung his smalls.”

Anders shook his head. “I remember waking to laughter and cat-calls, head pounding, no idea how I got there.”

“You’re lucky it was just laughter and cat-calls; Oghren was all for pissing on you to wake you.”

“Why am I not surprised? Of course, that started the on-going rumors of my... _affection..._ for statuary.”

Neria laughed. “No, that _confirmed_ your affection for statuary. Cat-calling Andraste’s courtyard effigy started it.”

It was their last night at Soldier’s Peak. A caravan was heading out the next morning, and all three would ride with it as far as The North Road, at which point, Fenris and Anders would head west, and Neria would continue east to Denerim.

“Isn’t it a bit below your station, hitching rides on caravans? Shouldn’t you be traveling with a full retinue, or something?” Anders had asked.

“Maker, no! Try it, sometime. Every stop for the loo becomes a royal parade. I avoid pomp whenever possible.”

Anders had grinned at Fenris. “So do we.”

Now, they were enjoying a last evening of story-telling, with drink flushing out tales not previously told. Fenris watched Anders for signs of over-indulgence, anxious to avoid a second vomit-shower. So far, both men were simply well-relaxed. Neria was going farther into her cups than expected.

“Sometimes, I’m glad Alistair can’t marry me. A queen has even less freedom than I. Every movement watched and weighed for meaning. Every dress evaluated and criticized. Alistair tires of the constant scrutiny, just as much.”

“Why can he not marry you?” Fenris asked.

She looked at him with surprise. “I’m an elf, obviously; not to mention a mage. The nobles would lose their minds.”

“You are the Hero of Ferelden, and Commander of the Grey. You saved each of their collective hides, slaying the Archdemon. Is that not enough?”

“Oh sure, it’s enough to give me run of the Court, and respect in the Landsmeet. But Fenris, no elf, let alone with mage blood, would be allowed to take the crown. It’s not to be borne.”

“And, King Alistair allows this bigotry to stand?” Anders asked.

“He thinks it’s as stupid as I do. Yet, it’s surprising how such turmoil can clog the entire country. He can decree anything he likes; but he needs his people’s support to make it function. Anyway, even if we _did_ marry, they’d be pressuring him to set me aside, soon enough.”

Anders frowned, then nodded. “I hadn’t thought about that. Although, it’s no guarantee he could get an heir on another woman, either.”

“Yes, well, no one really considers that, do they?”

“I’m not following,” Fenris said.

Anders explained. “Wardens don’t conceive easily. With one Warden, it’s unlikely. With two, nearly impossible.”

He frowned, not sure what prevented it. Yet, both Wardens in the room were in accord on the topic, so he took them at their word. 

Anders was looking at Neria with sympathy. “They’re already pushing him, aren’t they?”

She nodded, downing more ale. “A veritable parade of suitable noble daughters. He goes through the motions, no intention of taking a bride, unless it be me. Even so, it’s nauseating to watch them simper and flirt. He hates it.”

“I’m sorry, Neria.”

“Thank you, but don’t be. It’s the life I chose, and every moment I spend with Alistair makes it worthwhile. But, there are times I need to get away from it all. Like, now.”

“You have no idea how grateful we are, for that.”

“Truly,” Fenris added. “I am deeply indebted to you.”

She shook her head, meeting his eyes. “You are not. Take care of my truant Warden, and that’s payment, enough. Trouble has a habit of finding him.”

Fenris nodded sagely. “That it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest appreciation goes to Andrastesknickerweasel, for her brilliant assistance in helping create Fenris' "Harrowing." I was stuck, and she yanked me out of the mud, and showed me the way! MmmmmmmWahh! <33333


	28. Comprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders learns more about himself than he's comfortable knowing.

The voyage home was much calmer than the previous trip. The weather was clear and cold, a strong wind blowing the ship steadily northward. 

The men braved the cold to take air on the deck each afternoon. Carrying the chairs from their cabin, they basked in frigid sunlight. Fenris had procured the stateroom again, without hesitation. Anders knew it was for him, and was grateful.

Fenris hadn’t spoken of his second meeting with Justice. The spirit had shown Anders the battle with the demon, and he sensed they’d had a fairly involved discussion, but that was all. He was intensely curious about their talk, but waited for the elf to decide to share. He thought there was a good chance of it, given Fenris’ meditative demeanor since then.

The elf was quiet. Not in itself unusual, but Anders knew him well enough to see he was immersed in thought. Although reflective, Fenris was anything but distant. He was attentive in a way that left Anders filled with gratification. Not only through sex, though there was certainly plenty of that. Fenris overflowed with simple gestures, tender gazes, frequent touches... near adoration.

And, strangest of all... the elf was calling Justice by his name. 

“The crew says we’ll be in Kirkwall tomorrow night,” Fenris said from his chair on the deck.

Anders nodded beside him. “Back to life as we know it.”

The wind blew Fenris’ hair across his face, obscuring all but his mouth. The front half of Anders’ hair was restrained, but when they returned to the cabin, it would be a mass of snarls. Which Fenris would likely offer to comb out, his gentle fingers straightening the mess painlessly. 

“Must it?”

“Must it, what?”

“Be life as we know it?”

“Sounds like something’s on your mind.” 

Fenris visibly squirmed. “I... let’s go inside.”

“Sure.”

As he’d predicted, he found himself seated before the elf, receiving gentle, patient grooming.

“Your hair is so fine,” Fenris commented. “The slightest breeze has its way with it.”

Chuckling, Anders had to agree. Something about Fenris’ silky hair made it nearly impervious to tangles. As though the sleek tresses simply couldn’t be knotted.

With his hair detangled and crackling in a static-cloud around his head, he nudged Fenris over on the bed, and snuggled close. It was chilly, and Fenris always had heat to spare. Several times, the elf inhaled, hesitated, then exhaled in frustration. Clearly, he was struggling with himself to say something. Anders waited. It wasn’t long.

“I....”

“You?” Anders prompted.

“I want... would like....”

“You would like...?” he prompted.

“No. Would _you_ like... do you think...?”

“Fenris... what are you afraid to ask?”

“I am not afraid to ask. I wish to say it properly.”

“Since when have you tried to be proper around me?”

“I... just.... It’s not you... it’s me....”

Anders sat up, frowning at him.

“You realize that’s the worst break-up line in history, Fenris. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

 _“No!”_ He sat upright, as well. _“Fasta vass._ I wish to be with you.”

“You want to have sex?” He’d never had trouble getting _that_ across, before.

“No! Yes! Not at the moment....” he broke into muttered Tevene.

“Fenris... you’ve gotta work with me, here. I’m trying to understand.”

“You are... you come to my home, frequently....”

“You’d like more privacy?”

“No! Anders. You are not helping.” He took a deep breath, and spoke to the bedcovers. “I would... be pleased... if _you_ would be pleased... to share my home. With me.”

Reality suddenly took a lunch break. Fenris was asking him to move into his mansion. He nearly lived there, as it was, but a formal invitation was beyond significant, from this man. Anders gathered his wits, and carefully clarified the elf’s intent.

“Fenris. This sort of arrangement... it’s generally considered a permanent sort of thing.”

He looked crestfallen. “And, that does not appeal to you?” 

“I was concerned it wouldn’t appeal to _you.”_

Fenris took his hands, his expression a cross of adoration and amusement. “Anders. _I am yours._ This, also, is a permanent thing.”

He wanted to laugh, and cry, and pray, and fuck, and dance. “You would have me in your home, and tell our companions we’re together?”

“Nothing would please me more.”

The dwarves were right. It was possible to simply fall into the sky. “You truly are the shining light in my life.”

Fenris proved it, with a smile that lit the room. “You will move in as soon as we disembark.”

Anders laughed, feeling giddy. “Aren’t you bossy? I hope this won’t be the standard of our domestic bliss.”

Fenris bore him down to the mattress, still smiling. “Occasionally. I’m sure I will be forced to grow accustomed to your cleaning habits.”

He kissed him. “Without a doubt. And, I will pick names for the corpses in the reception area. They’re not very cuddly, but as far as pets go, low maintenance.”

Fenris chuckled, drawing him into a deep, passionate, kiss. “Shall we have an early celebration?”

“Yes, please.”

\---------------------------------

“You have _got_ to be shitting me! Blondie and Broody, in wedded bliss?”

“We are _not_ wedded,” Fenris intoned.

“I bet there’s bliss, though,” Isabela sighed. “Tell me there’s bliss.”

“Of course there’s bliss, Isabela,” Merrill gushed. “Look how happy they are.”

Aveline looked at her in astonishment. “Merrill, are you blind? They look like they’re going to a funeral.”

Anders leaned in to mutter, “Bet you’re rethinking the bit about telling our companions we’re together.”

Sebastian looked intently at Fenris. “If you feel the need for relationship counsel, I’m available, anytime.”

Anders scoffed. “Why would _he_ need counsel? Why do you assume _I’m_ going to be a problem? Hawke, tell him. When I was staying at your estate, I was perfectly easy to get along with.”

Hawke shook her head, laughing. “When you two were at my place, I was ready to kick you both out.”

“You were an annoyance,” Fenris agreed.

“She said _both of us,_ grumpy.”

“That’s _Broody,_ Blondie,” Varric corrected. “Look at this... your first fight.”

“They’ve been fighting since I met them, Varric,” Merrill pointed out. 

“First fight as husband and... husband.”

They replied in unison, _“We're not married.”_

“Aye, the Chantry doesn’t marry two men,” Sebastian intoned.

“Well, I’m not a fan of marriage, myself, but that’s just bollocks,” Isabela said.

“Marriage is emulated after the Maker and His Bride, not the Maker and His Husband.”

“In that case, it should be the Maker and _His_ Bride, and _Her_ Husband,” she retorted. “Judging by his statues, Maferath looked like a man to give a good smiting.”

Fenris snorted. "Looks like you have someone with whom to discuss statuary, Anders."

 _“Don't even, elf._

Varric held up his hand. “I think we’re all getting distracted, here. Blondie and Broody have entered domestic bliss, folks! This is a noteworthy occasion.”

“Sure is,” Isabela said. “You owe me a sovereign, Varric.”

“Come on people! Let’s raise a cup to our own wayward boys!”

Cups raised, and they received a resounding cheer.

_“HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!”_

Anders rolled his eyes, and felt a hand take his under the table. It had been a trying change in their status. On the ship, caught in the romance of the moment, it seemed ideal. The reality had been something less than, before they’d found a pleasing solution.

Thinking back on it, Anders wasn’t sure who had the most trouble with the move. The first sign of trouble was when Anders asked about domestic maintenance. After the courtship deep-clean of last summer, Fenris' room had devolved back to its former unkempt state.

“So... you won’t mind if I up the cleaning time with Orana, would you?”

He saw the anxiety in Fenris’ eyes. “I... am not comfortable with someone handling my belongings as much as they already are.”

“Not even the empty bottles? I’ll be making extra laundry and dirty dishes, you know.”

Frowning, Fenris considered. “Perhaps. I will think on it.”

When they’d brought his trunk and assorted items from the clinic, tension had suddenly filled the air. Fenris sat in the middle of the bed, watching as Anders tried to unpack. No matter where he tried to put something, it was disallowed. Fenris recited a veritable list of refusals.

“That’s mine... I use that... I put things there... I need that empty... it’s in the way... I’d rather not.”

After running out of available space, Anders grew frustrated.

“Andraste’s floppy tits! Why don’t you just piss in each corner, and be done with it?” 

Fenris’ eyes widened in surprise, then he shrunk in on himself. He couldn’t have looked more woebegone if his ears had drooped. Anders immediately felt guilty... then, he felt angry for feeling guilty. He sighed, and sat beside him on the bed.

“Would you rather rethink this? Maybe I should just go back to the clinic.” 

_“NO!_ No. We will find a way.” He wrapped his hand about Anders’ wrist. “Don’t go.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I go back to the clinic, I’m still not going anywhere.”

He looked around the room, knowing it was futile, if Fenris couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let him occupy space. He saw the spiny seashell, still in its place of honor on the mantle. A colorful rock from Sundermount sat on the table. A small tapestry Fenris had purchased at Soldier’s Peak now hung on the wall; a stylized depiction of mabari battling darkspawn. In the past year, the elf had begun pulling his treasures out from under his bed, and displaying them throughout the room.

For the first time in his life, Fenris _was_ figuratively pissing in the corners. He was proclaiming his right to live in a larger world. And Anders, as much as Fenris genuinely wanted him here, was encroaching on his territory.

“You know... I’m going to need more space than this. There’s a few empty rooms on this floor. Would you mind if I took over one of those, and just slept in here?”

Fenris’ eyes grew huge. He was off the bed in a flash, and Anders followed, worried he’d upset him. But, Fenris was running from room to room, opening doors and pulling drapes. All the rooms were thick with dust and cobwebs, and smelled musty. Some were crowded with crates, others fully furnished. 

“This one’s closest to mine, but it doesn’t have a fireplace. This one’s got a leak around the window. The one's fireplace shares my chimney. The room at the end of the hall is in best repair, but it’s small. I think it was a nursery.”

Anders grinned, seeing the elf’s enthusiasm. Why it hadn’t occurred to either of them to consider the other rooms to begin with, was beyond him. It was the perfect solution, and watching Fenris fly about, pointing out qualities and drawbacks made him glow inside.

In the end, he chose the room with the shared chimney. It had actually been prepared for extended unoccupation, at some point, with thick covers protecting the furniture. A bed, a desk, and a wardrobe were all he needed. Together, they swept out the dust and cobwebs, uncovered the furniture, and unpacked his belongings.

“So... how about Orana comes more often, but just to manage the increased laundry and dishes... and maybe my room?”

Fenris nodded, and pulled him to lie on the bed with him. Anders finally noticed the ceiling.

“Wow.”

“You had not seen it, before?”

“No. That’s amazing.”

While Fenris’ room had a bizarre skylight in the ceiling, Anders’ had a mural. A colorful depiction of the night sky, with stars, moons, and constellations. It was beautiful. Fenris took his wrist in a gentle grip. 

“I am glad you are here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. You aren’t upset to have a separate room?”

“That depends. Am I welcome to your bed and table?”

“Not only welcome, desired. Your presence is not the issue. I enjoy being with you. Look how well we did together in the cove, and on the boats. I didn’t expect to feel so jealous of my space.”

“You fought hard for your own place in this world. I think it’s natural to be protective of it.”

“You do not feel as though you’ve lost your own space, leaving the clinic?”

“I’m still working there, Fenris. Now, I have _two_ beds to choose from, each with a hearth!”

A finger traced his smile. He turned to the elf, who was gazing at him in the tender way he’d been doing since his trip to the Fade. Fenris smiled softly.

“You’re happy.” As though this was a goal the elf had sought his entire life.

“Very happy.”

Fenris fairly glowed. His finger was replaced with feather light lips. It was a whisper of a kiss, followed by whispered words.

“Welcome home, Anders.”

\-------------------------

As Anders returned to work at the clinic, and his normal routine, he appreciated his new home more and more. Having a place to go to, where someone greeted him with a warm embrace; or when alone, he felt safe enough to relax, was more than he’d ever hoped for. Especially given the climate in the Gallows.

During their few months away, Meredith had escalated her war on decency. Hawke reported an almost confrontational demeanor, when she’d broached the topic of the templar attack on Anders. She’d denied sending any of her people against the Champions’ companions; followed quickly by pointed comments regarding apostate tolerance in the city. 

“I’m glad you’re living in Hightown, now. Going through my cellar passage, and to Fenris’ mansion, I feel much easier about your wellbeing.” 

“Templars hunt in broad daylight, you know.”

“Yes, but I can sleep at night, knowing where you’ll be.”

Anders smirked. He, himself, didn’t always sleep at night, but it had nothing to do with templars. 

After their initial difficulty, things smoothed-out at the mansion. Logistically, it wasn’t much different than before. Anders having his own space meant Fenris still had his. They shared meals, sat before the fire on Fenris’ settee, and shared a bed. They were as likely to end up on Anders’ as Fenris’. 

Climate-control in Anders’ room was far more conducive to herbal preservation and processing than the clinic, so he brought in his potioner’s equipment. Which also meant he was present more often than before, since he spent a fair amount of time making potions and poultices. An added benefit was Fenris joining him in his room, reclining on his bed, keeping him company as he worked. Often he read aloud, Anders assisting where needed. 

_“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_What You have created, no one can tear as... as... as under?”_

“A-sun-der,” Anders prompted, tying a bundle of spindleweed, and hanging it on the drying rack. He sat on the floor, robe tossed over a chair, and worked his way through the pile of herbs.

 _“‘No one can tear asunder.’_ This is the verse you prayed after I drowned.”

“That’s right. It seems so long ago.”

“Two years, this summer. Much has changed, since then.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Fenris picked up where he left off.

_“Who knows me as You do?_  
_You have been there since before my first breath._  
_You have seen me when no other would recognize my face._  
_You composed the ca... cay...dence... cadence of my heart.”_

He paused, again. “It’s comforting to think someone knows me better than Danarius.”

Anders looked up at him, sitting against the headboard of his bed, armor absent, copy of the Canticle of Trials on his lap. “You left him eight years ago. He no longer knows you.”

Fenris shrugged. “Yet, he knows my past.”

 _“You_ know your past, Fenris. Your memories have surfaced, twice now. They’re just locked inside that amazing brain of yours.”

“What good is that, if I can’t recall them?”

“Well... they only surfaced those times due to an overemotional state. If retraining in magic makes previously learned spells return, maybe you need to re-experience your past, for the memories to stick.”

“You mean, confront Danarius.”

“I mean, talk to your sister. She might even know facts of your youth Danarius doesn’t.”

Fenris looked thoughtful. Anders hung the last of the spindleweed, and joined him on the bed. He waited for him to speak.

“Perhaps I will have Varric look into Hadriana’s claims. See if Varania is still with this Ahriman in Qarinus. What could it hurt?”

Anders grinned. “Indeed... what could it hurt?” He was delighted he was at least exploring the possibility. He took the Canticle from the elf, setting it aside. 

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “Finished with your work?”

Stretching out on his front, Anders lifted the hem of the elf’s tunic, running his tongue along his belly, nipping at his navel. “No... I still have some unfinished business, here.”

Fenris chuckled. “Don’t let me keep you from it.”

Anders paid homage to the flat, firm abdomen before him. Fenris had no fat on his body, few elves did. And, after years of swordplay, he was well-toned. As Anders tickled his belly and hip bones with tongue and lips, his belly rippled with muscle. 

“Mmmm...” he moaned, sucking on the warm flesh. He grasped the slender hips, thumbs massaging into the hollows before them. Fenris was adorably ticklish, and this always set him squirming... like now.

There were many things Anders admired about the leggings Fenris wore. They were snug, they were easy to remove, and they were low-waisted. The latter meant, when aroused, the head of his cock escaped over the waistline. Like now.

He turned his attention to the revealed delight. Darker than his body’s complexion, it’s silky, mushroom-cap caressed along his tongue with each lick. Fenris’ belly rippled again, as Anders eagerly explored him. He’d explored him, multitudes of times by now; yet each time felt like the first. It made him glad Fenris had been his first lover. Everything about him was simply extraordinary.

He teased, not lowering the leggings to expose more of the sensitive flesh. Suckling at the head, dipping his tongue into the slit, licking the edge around its cap... this alone made Fenris moan and pant. Anders knew he especially liked this activity, and he especially liked doing it. He liked the taste, the texture, the way Fenris responded. But mostly, he liked that no one had done this before him. They’d learned this, together. 

Fingers slid into his hair, pulling the tie, and threading through his tresses. He moaned, the vibration making the flesh between his lips jump. Hungry for more, he pulled down the waistband, and swallowed Fenris’ shaft to its root.

His name was uttered in a choked gasp. The fingers in his hair tightened, the pull arousing Anders. He liked it when Fenris got a little rough. He never did it purposefully, but in moments of arousal and intensity he lost a little control. Hair pulling, rough handling, bites and scratches... it never failed to incite Anders. He discreetly did his best to encourage it, as he would never ask for it. Not with Fenris’ past.

He sucked. With skill of long practice, he sucked on the hard flesh in his mouth. Sliding his lips and tongue along the shaft, he brought Fenris pleasure. The taste of him... intoxicating. He had no reference, but he doubted any other tasted so divine. The feel of him... like velvet.

Fenris panted, breathy moans that shaped occasional words; Anders’ name, primarily. It fueled his own ardor, and he cupped himself, rubbing through his trousers. His moan made the elf thrust into his mouth, precome dripping. Ohhh... delicious. He bobbed his head in time with Fenris’ thrusts, taking him as deep as he could. He’d heard elves weren’t as well endowed as humans and dwarves. Again, he had no reference. But, were Fenris any larger, he’d be an uncomfortable fit, anywhere. As far as Anders was concerned, he was perfect.

“Anders....”

“Mmmm?” He hummed around his mouthful.

“I wish to try something,” he rasped.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Use healing magic... on the lyrium.”

Anders was surprised. True, Fenris had said his healing magic felt nice. Yet, so many magisters had painfully used magic on the markings, he would never have anticipated this request. But, anything Fenris wanted, he was willing to try. He slipped his mouth from the flushed, swollen flesh. With blue-lit fingers, he lightly stroked the markings twining along his shaft.

With a jolt, Fenris’ head hit the wall, teeth gritted. Anders jerked his hand away.

“Don’t stop!” Fenris hissed. _“Venhedis..._ don’t stop.”

Filled with wonder, he again touched his magic to the marking, and watched Fenris melt.

Head rolling, body twitching, he shuddered and moaned. His erection swelled beyond its typical size, visibly darkening. Anders watched with quickened breath, feeling himself leaking into his smalls. Fenris lifted his head, eyes intense, lungs heaving, and growled.

_“I want you.”_

Yanking at his drawstring, Anders couldn’t get his pants down fast enough. Shoving them to his knees, he went to all fours, casting his spell. Fenris knelt behind him, and thrust. And again. And again. This... this was what Anders wanted. Simple, brutish fucking.

 _“YES!”_ Anders gasped. “Yes... fuck... yes....”

Fenris rode him well. Slow, deep, hard thrusts. He grunted as he rammed himself into him, cock slamming his prostate, over and over. Harsh cries stuttered from his throat as he was pounded, tension growing. He was already approaching his peak.

“Fen... Fen... Fenris... I’m coming... Maker, I’m....”

Pleasure washed over him, balls pulsing. He gasped through it, Fenris never stopping. The elf’s voice, deep and gravely, spoke.

 _“Yessssss..._ the feel of you, Anders, coming around me... _hunhhhhhh...._ Stop me, if it becomes too much.”

It _was_ too much... and too good to stop. He was exquisitely sensitive, and the assault on his prostate was nearly painful. But, it fueled something in Anders... like having his hair pulled, or neck bitten. He shoved himself back against Fenris with each thrust, reveling in the way he was taken.

Part of him quailed... was it right? To wish to be taken, when Fenris had truly been taken, against his will? Was he wrong to--

Fenris’ hand wrapped in his hair and pulled, Anders crying out in dark pleasure. His cock twitched. Fenris used his grip to pull him back against his thrusts.

“Fenris... Fenris... don’t stop... Maker, I’m getting hard, again....”

“Of course you are... _unghh... unghh... unghh..._ your wonders never cease.”

Fenris sped his assault, free hand reaching to stroke Anders’ hardening flesh. His hand left his hair to wrap around his chest, and pull him upright against him. He bit the juncture of his neck and shoulder, making Anders cry out, again. 

“I know what you like,” Fenris whispered, still thrusting. “I know what you won’t ask for... and I know why. Don’t fear your desires, Anders. Tell me... we will explore them all.”

His body, already flushed, ran with heat, flame engulfing him. He sobbed with the pleasure of his body, and the words Fenris said. 

“Fenris... you possess me....”

“We possess one another... each with a light that binds us.”

Anders was approaching his second climax, head tilted onto Fenris’ shoulder behind him. He gasped, “Fade and lyrium.”

Fenris bit the other side of his neck, and whispered into his ear, “Our curse, and our salvation.”

Anders panted. “Our pain and our pleasure. 

“Shall we?”

_“Maker, yes!”_

The lyrium markings flared to life, the song exploding in a rhapsody. Anders’ spine arched, arms thrown wide in exaltation; as Justice surged forth, euphoric; the spirit’s joy his own. Fenris’ arms wrapped around him as he thrust with abandon, taking Anders to his unearthly summit. 

_“GAAAHHHHHHHHH!”_ Fade light exploded as pleasure like no other consumed him. 

Rapture... elation... bliss. He floated, Justice fading back within, repletion echoing through their minds. He became aware of his surroundings. He lay face down on the bed, Fenris collapsed atop him. He felt... amazing. Unreal. 

Slowly, Fenris uncoupled their bodies, and pulled him into a hot, sticky embrace. Anders nuzzled into his sweated hair, and kissed his salty temple. He chuckled softly.

“Mmm... what is it?” Fenris murmured.

“We give new meaning to _afterglow,”_ he replied.

Fenris chuckled, too, smoothing his hand down Anders’ spine. “Warden stamina is not just a rumor, then?”

“My first experience with it in this context.”

“Do you smell smoke?”

Anders lifted his head to look around. The tattered blind over the window was smoldering. “Looks like I lost a little magic.”

Fenris cast some ice on it, and the smoldering stopped. “Interesting that your magic slipped out, and mine did not.” 

“You were definitely in control, there, Fenris.”

He chuckled. Then asked, “How is Justice?”

“Blissed-out. There was no confusion, this time.”

“He enjoyed the first time. He believes it gave him better understanding of mortal needs.”

Anders snorted. “Yeah... _understanding._ That’s what he was feeling.”

They laughed softly together. Anders ventured a question he’d not yet asked.

“Did he... say anything else?”

It took a moment for Fenris to reply. “He said a great deal. You were privy to none?”

“None.”

“We spoke of several things. I apologized for his unwitting participation in our pleasures.”

“And, I take it he wasn’t upset, given we just did it, again.”

“His reference to it being his _first_ time, rather implied a second would not be remiss.”

Anders chuckled. “Oh, Maker. Sex talk between the two of you must have been excruciatingly formal.”

“It was appropriate, yes.”

“What else?”

“We discussed the difference between spirits and demons, and his place between the two.”

“Was there a verdict?”

“He is _not_ a demon.”

Anders looked at him with jaw dropped. “You came to this conclusion, and never told me? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Fenris’ voice dropped to a whisper. “Anders... some of what’s convinced me has to do with you. I’m not sure how you will respond.”

“Well, now you _have_ to tell me.” 

“It is hard to decide where to begin. Alright... we have wondered why he is willing for you to assist me.”

“And, he told you?”

“He says I bring you peace. And, help you to face and defeat pains he can’t.”

“That’s true, you do bring me peace. Did he say _what_ pains?”

“I’ll get to that. He also believes I will aide your cause.”

“Freeing mages? He missed the mark on that one.”

“And, when I met him previously, he was... how did you put it? 

“Uptight? Stiff?”

“Yes. Although he still tended that way, this time he was different. He’s taking on some of your traits, Anders. Even the way he stood and moved, was more like you.”

“That’s... astonishing. Neria said I was more like him. Given the way he takes over, sometimes, I thought I was losing myself to him.”

“I believe you once were. It may be things are more equal, now. You have overridden him, to get drunk. He shares some of your qualities. Perhaps... there can be balance within you.”

Anders thought it over. He’d like to think so. Neria said Wynn seemed well adjusted with her spirit. Then, he sighed.

“I don’t think so, Fenris. I think it’s better, but Justice still surged when Neria baited me, at Soldier’s Peak. I’m too angry, he’s too righteous.”

“Possibly. Yet, I see an improvement.”

Anders kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m glad. I’m glad you no longer think he’s a demon. So glad. What finally convinced you?”

Fenris took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “There were a few factors. Neria’s agreement of your opinion on Justice, was one. That he is influenced by you, as you are influenced by him, is another. And... he is doing something no demon would. Something even Neria noticed.”

Anders felt a strange sense of foreboding. “What?”

“You told me of your struggle after your confinement. The way darkness still came.”

“Yes.”

“Neria told me of her recollection, after you were released.”

Anxiety began to swirl within him. Neria had been in the Circle. He’d never considered her remembrance of it. 

“Fenris... what did she say?”

“The accusations of erratic behavior and moods... they were true. More than you realized.”

Heart sinking, he tried to simply focus on facts. “How much more?”

“Vacillating from despondence to frenzy.”

He was silent, considering its implication. It meant he was....

“Fenris... I’m not mad. You know this.”

He was enfolded in caring arms, soft voice in his ear. “No... you’re not mad, Anders. You were wounded.”

“Neria knows. She knew me in the Wardens. She knows I’m not mad.”

“She knows. But, she also knows you still bore the wounds. Your mood was shifting. You... had some quirks. She said the deep roads were particularly difficult for you. Enough, she worried the Wardens would find you unfit, and send you back to the Circle.”

“The deep roads were hard. I remember, my dreams seemed so much worse than the others’.”

“Until....”

“Until? Oh. Pounce.”

“Yes. She said that cat made a world of difference. She was furious they made you give him away.”

Anders’ heart was skipping. He’d known he had troubles then, but hadn’t realized how deep they’d been. 

“Fenris... what does this have to do with Justice?”

“The first time I met him in the Fade, he told me he soothed the wounds of your soul... wounds you received in solitary confinement. He says he levels your rise and fall, and keeps the darkness at bay. And, it took me some time to finally see it, but Anders, no demon would commit such a good and just act.”

The air went out of him. He _was_ mad. If not for a cat and a Fade spirit, he’d be mad enough to kick out of the Wardens. He’d be mad enough to warrant Tranquility. He thought he’d overcome what they did to him, but he hadn’t. He’d been driven insane by the Circle, and he’d stayed that way. He was an abomination _with_ Justice, and he’d be a madman _without_ him. No matter what, he was a lost cause.

He tried to swallow the fear and anxiety swelling in his chest. He felt his face heat, and chin start to quiver. Tears flooded his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. Sobs broke from his chest.

“I didn’t know. _I didn’t know._ I thought I was... I thought I got over it....”

“You _did,_ Anders. It was your own strength that allowed you to survive. You were so strong, through it all.”

“I’m not mad... Fenris, I’m not. _I’m not.”_

Fenris tried to put his arms about him, and he pushed them away. Fenris simply took his weeping face in his hands, kissing his tears.

“You are not mad.”

Suddenly, Anders took the opposite view. “Yes, I am! I’m only sane because I’m a _fucking abomination!”_ He tried to say more, but howling sobs overrode his words. 

_They’d_ done it. They didn’t need to brand him with lyrium, they’d already sundered his mind. They’d broken him, and he was _still_ broken, and he would always _be_ broken. Because he’d committed the unforgivable crime of being born with magic. 

Fenris tried again to hold him, and he didn’t resist. He sobbed into the elf’s neck, “It’s not my fault... it’s not my fault.”

“It is not your fault,” Fenris whispered. “You have done nothing wrong. You are a good and caring man.”

Anders wept. He didn’t know why he felt such sorrow. Nothing had changed, he was just as he was, before. Yet... he mourned learning the truth about himself. After some time, he cried himself out, and sniffled into the damp neck of the man who held him.

“I’m sorry, Fenris... I’m so sorry.”

“There is nothing for which to be sorry.” He stroked his mussed hair out of his tear-filled eyes, and kissed his cheeks. 

“That you got caught up with me... before you knew what I am.”

A gentle huff of a laugh. “I knew you were an abomination five years ago.”

“You didn’t know I was _insane.”_

“You are not insane, Anders.”

“What would you call me?”

“I call you _Anders,_ because that’s who you are.”

“But, I’m not right. They broke me, and I’m not right.”

“You are perfect.”

“How can you want me, knowing the truth?”

“Because I know the depth of your beauty. And, like a starry night, darkness is part of that beauty.”

“Don’t romanticize this.”

“Do I seem the type to romanticize?”

“You just did.”

“Anders... you are beautiful. Your wounds are part of you. Your darkness is part of you. Ergo, it is part of your beauty.”

He could hardly breathe for the ache in his heart. He was a mess of the highest order, and Fenris was turning him into a work of art.

“Look at me,” Fenris said, running his fingers along the lyrium markings. “My scars are visible. Would you reject me for bearing them?”

“Never.”

“Why would I reject you for bearing scars that are hidden? We are a perfect match, in both our light, and our darkness.”

Anders still felt the shock of learning an unwelcome truth about himself. But, he could not refute Fenris’ simple reasoning and dogged support. And, he didn’t want to.

He kissed him, gratitude overflowing. “You truly are the light in my life.”

“I will shine whenever you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, hearing a diagnosis can engender conflicting emotions. On one hand, there's relief at knowing what causes pain or discord. On the other, it can feel defining, and not always in a positive way. Anders' greatest fear was having his mind sundered by the Circle... now he realizes it had already happened, to some degree. His self-concept has been altered by that knowledge.
> 
> I will be traveling for several days. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update during that time. Rest assured, there is more to come.


	29. Sabbatical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men return to the cove for a short stay.

Fenris couldn’t remember the last time he’d so looked forward to anything. 

Isabela reported talk on the docks indicated the warm Rivaini current was moving along the coast. It was time. Anders and Fenris were returning to the cove.

Since returning from Ferelden, they had worked together on his Arcane Warrior skills, and he was fast gaining proficiency. He worked with all of the companions, actually, with the exception of Sebastian, who was not in agreement with Fenris choosing apostasy rather than the Circle. 

Force magic was more difficult. He did well with Anders’ small workings, but the large scale spells required more space and privacy. Which was why they were heading back to the cove. And, Fenris was nearly beside himself.

Anders too, was distinctly pleased. He’d just sent off a new batch of letters to Chantry and Circle leaders, as well as published a revised version of his manifesto. He wanted to be scarce when they were received.

“You don’t wish to be here in case of reply?”

“So far, the first reply has always been templar raids. I definitely don’t want to be around for that. I feel like things at the Circle are going to come to a head in the next year or two. I won’t want to leave the city for long periods, after this. And, Danarius has been quiet for too long. I want you trained-up, before he shows up.”

They'd decided two months would be sufficient. Fenris was actively involved in the planning, this time around. Anders, busy with last-minute concerns, trusted his judgement. Before they'd known it, they were standing on the warm beach, watching the sails disappear over the water.

Now, he lay on their bed under the lightning-split tree, and quietly rejoiced. It was a real bed; frame and mattress and plenty of blankets. It was in terrible shape, dragged out of the leaky bedroom in the mansion, and he had no qualms leaving it behind when they left. In fact, he decided they’d have a bonfire the morning they departed, to clean up the chicken coop and mattress, both. They’d stick the solid-bottomed frame in the cave, in hopes of future visits.

The chickens in their pen clucked contentedly. They were housed in a simple crate, with a willow-withe fence delineating their yard. They scratched at the corn Anders was tossing to them. He’d been surprisingly happy about tending to the two-dozen hens.

“I used to tend the chickens, as a boy. And clean the coop, and gather the eggs. Mutti wouldn’t let me butcher them, though.”

“I’ll be happy to have you butcher them. And pluck them, and cook them.”

“You make it sound like a hardship, but roast chicken three times a week is worth the effort.”

“Don’t forget eggs, each day.”

“Eggs, chicken, wine, and candy. We’re living well, this time around.”

Fenris laughed, knowing they had much more variety than that. About the only food he’d failed to bring, was fish.

“I’m going in," Anders said. "Want to join me?”

“No. I want to watch you.”

Anders winked, and jogged toward the water. Fenris eyed his flexing ass appreciatively. They’d both stripped naked as soon as the ship weighed anchor, and stayed that way. They didn’t bother dressing for the night’s chill. They had a warm bed, and were perfectly content wrapping themselves around each other. 

Fenris watched Anders ascend the diving rock, and take his position. Sunlight shining on his bright hair, he leapt into the air, a bird ascending on the breeze. He arced gracefully down, and cleanly speared the water. When he surfaced, he waved at Fenris. Fenris waved back, watching him swim to the diving rock, again. They were here to work on his magic. But, as far as Fenris was concerned, it was equally important for the mage to have this time of unencumbered joy. 

Anders had been blindsided to learn the degree to which his psyche had been wounded. Because his recall was sketchy, and because he'd done so well with Pounce and Justice, he'd simply been unaware of his continuing issues. He’d reeled for weeks after their conversation; shame, anger, and fear all beset him at intervals. They’d talked at length, several times, about what this meant for him.The fact was, neither really knew. Fenris tried to impress on him that it simply didn’t matter. He was what he was, and Fenris accepted all of him. It was more of a struggle for Anders. He had moments of fatalism, and moments of pragmatism. And, the more he thought about it, the more he began to see some of what Neria had described. And, in some ways, knowing helped him better understand himself.

“It actually explains some things,” he'd said. “It pulls together a few oddities in my memory, and makes sense of some confusion. Like Pounce. Some of the Wardens ridiculed me for taking his loss so hard. Now, I know I wasn’t just an over-emotional pansy. Pounce really did help me. Neria saw it.”

 _“You_ can see it, Anders. You don’t need back-up to prove your own belief.”

“I feel like I do. I don’t feel... reliable. I don’t trust myself.”

“I have found nothing untrustworthy about you. You’re brilliant, honest, and have an enviable memory.”

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

“You don’t deserve what the Circle did to you. You might deserve me.”

_“Might?”_

_“Now_ you argue your worth?”

“Hey, it’s one thing to pick on myself; it’s something else to let _you_ get away with it.”

“There’s my starry sky.”

“Sure. How starry will my sky be, if I ever lose Justice?”

He watched him climb back up the tower, wet skin glistening. He was bright and beautiful. He was also dark and scarred. With or without Justice, he was still Anders. And, Fenris had chosen to share his life with _all of him;_ no matter how many of his stars shone, or how deep his darkness. Whatever troubles might beset either of them, they would overcome them, together. 

Each shared the other’s darkness and light. Each possessed the other’s soul. And, nothing could change that.

\--------------------------

“You’re not far enough away.”

“I’ve got two shields, and I’m behind a wall of snow.”

“Go in the cave.”

“I can’t see from the cave!”

Fenris knew it was useless. Anders wouldn’t budge. They were testing his sheer force, blasting rock and wood with maker’s fury, or throwing it with telekinetic blast. It was the blast which had done so much damage, in his uncontrolled moments; throwing Hawke, killing the cove’s population of fish. While working with it, he’d thrown Anders across the sand, a few times; until they worked out a multi-layered system of protection. Even so, he took shrapnel in the form of splinters and rock chips.

He sighed, and focused on the large pile of driftwood across the sand. The goal wasn’t a simple blast, but a directed one, to throw the stack in one direction. He’d done it when he’d tossed Hawke across the room, yet Anders and the furnishings had remained unmolested. He’d done it again, when he’d halted and redirected the snowballs at Soldier’s Peak. They were trying to repeat the unidirectional results.

He focused, and cast. The pile exploded into chunks and splinters, in all directions. He checked Anders, immediately. He emerged from behind the snowbank, brushing sawdust from his shoulders.

“You know,” he was saying, “I think we’re going about this all wrong. telekinetic blast is a wave from the center of the spell’s focus. It’s going to be in a ring. Remember how Warden Arnaud described it; the telekinetic force repulses, so it will always have a concentric effect. The blast and pull of the abyss are chaotic energies... trying to direct them goes against their nature.”

 _“I did it,_ though, Anders. We know there’s a way.”

“Well, obviously. But, what if it wasn’t either of those spells? You learned in Tevinter. It could be a spell Southern force mages don’t know.”

It made sense. Yet, how could he recreate the spell from scratch?

“I’m hot,” Anders said. “Let’s work on ice, for a while.”

Fenris agreed. He enjoyed doing ice-work. In the hot climate of Tevinter, ice was a rarity, except that created by magic. The parties he’d attended at Danarius’ heel often had grand works of art, shaped from ice. He’d set his sights on creating grander, larger works than any magister had displayed; simply because he could.

As he cast his spell, and a monolithic tower of ice grew from the sand and up, he realized Anders was absolutely right. He’d been taught the Southern ice spells, yet as he’d practiced them, and refined his technique, they’d altered. Growing a column of ice this way was not among the spell-tree he’d learned. He was integrating something else... something likely hidden in his memories, and triggered by his work with similar spells.

“Wow!” Anders said. He walked around the base of what was now a fifteen-foot tall block of ice. “That was fast!”

“I discovered if I grow it from the ground up, rather than making it appear fully formed, it’s much quicker.”

“Can you do it in other ice forms? A snowbank, maybe?”

Fenris cast again, and a large patch of sand was suddenly piled with snow, growing and expanding to an equal height with the ice tower. Anders whooped, delighted, and ran over to its base.

“Make me some stairs up the column!”

“Why?”

“So I can get to the top of the snowbank.”

Fenris shaped a set of stairs, Anders sprinting up as soon as they’d formed. He hopped to the top of the snowbank, lay down, and rolled to the bottom; where he jumped up and grabbed his crotch with a hiss. A flash of blue shone from his groin.

“Ice burn!” he exclaimed. “I should have put pants on. Oh! I know!”

Suddenly, he was racing for the cave. Fenris shook his head, smiling. Just like the last time they were here, Anders was filled with energy, happy, and playful. 

He heard a whoop, and turned to see Anders running out of the cave in his trousers, carrying a flat section of one of the supply crates. He was up the steps Fenris had just created, and jumping across to the snowbank. Without slowing his movement, he threw down the flat of wood, diving atop it, and riding it down the snowbank.

“Come on, Fenris! You have to try sledding!”

“Sledding?”

“What I just did. You’ll love it! Uh... better put on pants, though.”

They spent several hours sledding in the snow, which evolved into creating long, curving tracks of ice to slide down, without the sled. It was good practice, really. As they dragged sand onto the snowbanks and ice flows, Anders would dispel them, and Fenris recreated them, clean and smooth. Something about the smooth, swooping flow was appealing. As the sun sank, they realized they’d missed lunch, and it was dinner time. Leaving the snow and ice to slowly dissipate, they prepared supper. 

Merrill had turned out to be a savior in disguise. She’d overheard them complain about the salted and pickled meats, and dried fruit that would be their staple. She casually mentioned the way Dalish elves prepared their stored meat for usage. Both men stared at her, blood magic the farthest thing from their mind. It turned into an afternoon in Hawke’s kitchen, Merrill happily teaching them how to rehydrate dried meat and fruits, and several recipes in which to use them. It was so easy, and so obvious, they could hardly believe their eyes. 

They’d also brought fresh potatoes, carrots, and onions, which would last most of their visit in the cave, if protected from moisture. Buried in a sand-filled barrel, which was wrapped in tarps, seemed to be doing the trick. Of course, they had the usual hard tack and nuts, and some preserved ham and bacon. 

Tonight it was hash, with beef, potatoes, and onions. Anders cooked some dried plums into a pudding-like dish, and Fenris provided dessert from his stores of sweets. It was a far cry from their first trip’s fare.

Fenris gazed up at the star-filled sky. “If the little moon is called Satina, what’s the name of the big one? Everyone just calls it the big moon.”

“There were several astronomy books in the Circle. Each said there were several names for it, but none were sure which was correct.”

“Such as?”

“Mostly variants of Old God names; Urtha, Andora, Funala, and the like.”

“Why does no one know?”

“No idea. I bet the Avvar know the old legends.”

“Or, the Qunari.”

“The Qunari have probably tried to go to the moons, to conquer them.”

“That is impossible.”

“Who says? Just because it hasn’t happened before, doesn’t mean it can’t.”

“They are in the sky, Anders. No one could reach them.”

“Dragons might be able to.”

“Dragons are not people.”

“The Old Gods were dragons. Perhaps they flew to the moons. Perhaps that’s why the names are all related to Old Gods. Or, maybe, they came _from_ the moons, in the first place. Maybe they aren’t gods at all! Maybe they’re just smart dragon-people who traveled here from their home on the moons!”

“Anders... how much ale have you had?”

“Half a mug.”

“Dragons are clever, and magisters once worshipped them. But, they’re _not_ people.”

Fenris could see Anders was warming to the topic. He settled back to enjoying the discussion.

“Look... Archdemons are smart," Anders said. "Older Wardens can understand them, to an extent.”

“Archdemons are Old Gods, not dragons,” Fenris countered. 

“Well, right. But, some High Dragons have been smart enough to convince cults of people to help care for their young.”

Fenris couldn’t deny that much. 

“And, look at the Qunari.”

“What? Did I miss something?”

“No one knows where Qunari come from, right? And, they’ve got horns. No other race on Thedas has _horns._ Maybe, they’re related to dragons. Maybe, they came from the moons _with_ the dragons. Maybe, they served the Old Gods, on the moons.”

There was something to that idea. “I have heard Qunari believe they have a connection to dragons. They revere them, in fact. Yet, can you honestly imagine Qunari _serving_ any being?”

“Huh. Yeah, you have a point, there. I know! Maybe the Qunari overthrew the Old Gods, and chased them off the moons. _Or..._ the Qunari and Old Gods lived on different moons. The Qunari invaded the Old God moon, and the Old Gods flew to Thedas. Then, when Tevinter rose, the magisters worshipped the Old Gods. 

“Later, the Qunari followed, and drove the Old Gods into hiding. Now, the Qunari are systematically taking over Thedas, searching for the Old Gods, to finish them off.”

Fenris was really enjoying this tale, now. “And, how did the Qunari get to Thedas? Jump down from the moons?”

“Hmm. That’s pretty far, even for a Qunari. I know! Remember you told us about Qunari using _qamek_ to turn resisters into mindless drones? Maybe they used _qamek_ on some of the Old Gods, and it turned them into just plain, regular dragons. Then, they rode them from the moons to Thedas! And, the dragons escaped into the wilderness, where they bred more dragons.”

Fenris grinned. “Anders... you missed your calling. You should be a story-teller.”

Anders grinned back. “I’d be a terrible bard. My singing’s alright, but you know as well as I do... I can’t lie to save my soul.”

“You can sing?”

“Well... kinda. I mean, everyone can sing, right?”

“Wrong. Have you heard Hawke?”

Anders choked on the ale he was drinking, laughing. “OK, I can’t deny that.”

“Sing for me.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“No. I wish to hear you sing.”

“Well... alright. But, you asked for it.” 

Anders cleared his throat, and began to sing. His voice was a smooth, mellow tenor. It took Fenris a moment to realize, but he was singing the Chant of Light. Not chanting it, but singing it in a flowing melody.

After several verses, he finished, and took a drink of ale. 

“That... was exceptional.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve never heard it sung, that way.”

“That’s how my village did it. Mutti had a beautiful voice.”

“You inherited it, clearly.”

A soft grin lit his face. “Thank you.”

\-------------------------------------

The days passed slowly, sunlight and warmth making time, itself, seem drowsy. They swam, shared pleasures, talked, and worked on magic. A lot. Fenris grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to cast the directed energy he knew he could produce.

“Don’t let it get to you, Fenris. There’s no better way to block progress. When it doesn’t happen, do something else for a while."

“I need to remember it while I’m _here._ I cannot practice that spell in Kirkwall. It’s too destructive.”

“You’ll remember. Let it go. Come here, take out your frustration on these feathers.”

He sighed, and walked to where Anders sat, plucking a chicken. They had a plucking station, away from their bed and fire. Sitting on a stump and facing east, the wind carried the plucked feathers out over the water. He took the bird from Anders, and began yanking feathers. They piled between his feet, before being swept away by the breeze.

“You sure you don’t want to save some of these for your pauldrons?”

“I don’t use chicken feathers in my pauldrons.”

“They’re getting a bit ragged.”

“Kids steal them.”

“What?”

“In the clinic. Half the kids I see pluck one while being examined.”

Fenris snorted. “Perhaps it’s time for new pauldrons, then.”

“I like my well-loved pauldrons!”

The feathers swirled about his feet. Something about the motion drew his attention. They swirled, then blew forward, across the sand. There was a tickle of a memory. He shook his head. It just wouldn’t come.

The bird plucked and prepared, Anders set it in a pit oven, covered with coals. It would roast until suppertime.

Fenris stretched out on their bed, and sighed. The sun backlit the leaves, creating a pattern of dark and light above him. The soft sound of the breeze through the leaves was soothing. He could be happy here for the rest of days; with sunshine, ocean, and Anders. 

He could hear him talking to the chickens in their yard. He always brought them corn and spoke soothingly after culling one of the flock. It made Fenris feel soft inside, that even chickens raised for food received Anders’ compassion. He turned his head to watch. The fowl chortled and clucked in their little chicken language, scratching for the food he scattered. 

Anders had a respectable crop of freckles after several weeks in the sun. His hair hung loose, ruffled by the breeze. It was hard to look at him, naked like this, and not imagine each part of him engaged in some aspect of sex play. He was so gentle and attentive as a lover. Fenris had to assert himself to ensure Anders’ needs were met, as well. 

And, as he’d discovered, asserting himself was part of what Anders desired; but had been hesitant to request. He didn't ask for much; just occasional rough handling, or low-level pain. Though Fenris had no interest in _receiving_ such treatment; he had no problem indulging Anders’ darker needs.

Anders left the birds, and crossed the beach to their campsite. With a flying leap he joined Fenris on the bed. 

“Are the birds consoled?”

“No idea. Beaks don’t make for expressive faces.”

“I’m sure they appreciate your kindness, even if they can’t show it.”

“Really?”

“No. They’re chickens, Anders.”

“Don’t think they don’t have personalities. Mutti’s flock always had some crazy ones, and some cuddly ones, and some mean ones.”

“You know a great deal about chickens.”

“I liked working with animals.”

“Did you have a cat?”

“Of course. You have to have barn cats, to manage the mice. We should have one, too.”

“We have no barn.”

“We have mice.”

“Those are bats, Anders. Notice the wings?”

“Smart ass. We also have mice. I’d set up a decent kitchen and larder, if we could clear them out.”

“Cats are few in Kirkwall.”

“Tell me about it. So... do me a favor, my lyrium lover?”

Fenris snorted. “What is it?”

“Let me teach you to dive.”

“I will, if you promise to never call me that, again.”

Anders chuckled. “Yeah... that kinda hurt coming out.”

“Besides, you already have a nick-name for me.”

“I do not.”

“You call me _Fen-Fen.”_

“Since when?”

“Since the first time I made you come. And, every time you’ve come, since.”

“No, I don’t.... do I?”

“You do.” He leaned up on an elbow, and whispered into his ear. “With your voice hoarse with passion, you arch your neck and call out: _‘Fen... Fen... Fenris.’_ And, then... you come.”

Anders shivered. “You’re making me hard. Say _come,_ again.”

With a smirk, he slowly recited, “Come... come... come... come....”

Anders had been serious. He was getting hard, and rising. “Touch me,” he whispered. “Touch me, and talk to me.”

Fenris smirked, and settled beside him. “Give me grease.”

With slick palm, and low voice, Fenris pleasured him. Anders was beautiful, lying in the shifting shade, body bared to the ocean breeze. Fenris stroked his rising flesh, and spoke to him, watching his face for changes, for pleasure... for the joy of simply looking at him. It wasn’t long before words and touch had him tossing his head, crying out. Fenris continued, bringing him closer to the edge.

“You bring me pleasure, just to look at you. I watch you as walk through the city, or along the paths of Sundermount, or across the sand... and I grow hard. You stir me, with every move you make. I heat, with each smile you give. I desire you, catching the barest scent of you.”

Anders shuddered, moaning.

“I follow you into shops, watching as you bend and stretch over counters. I want to pin you there, and take you, in front of all who might see. When we camp on a mission, I want to bring you to screaming climax, that our companions might hear. I would have all know the passion that is in you, the glory of our joining.”

“Fenris... oh, Maker....”

“I watch you as we share pleasure, and see the beauty of your bliss. I feel you as I move within you, and feel the heat of your desire. I feel the tenderness of your touch, and I want to thank the Maker for creating such perfection of body, heart, and soul.”

He felt a small flash of magic, and knew Anders was ready for more. “Fenris... take me....”

Oh, he was more than ready to do so. He turned Anders onto his side, facing away. “Pull your leg up,” he whispered, running his hand along the firm haunch and thigh. With a groan of relief, he slid inside Anders’ welcoming body.

He would never get used to this. He would never get over this. The feel of Anders, accepting him, the sound of him calling out for him. The sense of wonder, that they shared this as equals. 

Curling his hips, he began his ride to paradise. Anders’ voice sang for him, as beautifully as he had sung the Chant. Cries of pleasure and sighs of fulfillment; both music to fuel Fenris’ passion.

Anders couldn’t move well, in this spooned position, but Fenris made sure all the right spots were attended. He angled himself to slide across his prostate with each thrust, Anders’ shudder and shout signaling success. He was heated, his climax in sight. Pleasuring Anders, watching him toss and moan as he’d talked to him, had been arousing for both of them. 

_“Fenris... oh, Maker... fuck me... hold me down, and fuck me....”_

He smirked, and pushed him flat on his belly. Straddling his hips, he held down Anders’ shoulders, and rode him hard. Desperate shouts of passion were a different kind of song, but just as compelling.

_“Yes! Yes! Fenris, don’t stop!”_

He fisted Anders’ hair in one hand, pulling his head back.

_“Fuck, yes! Oh, Maker... harder!”_

He sank his teeth into Anders’ neck, pounding into him. Wailing with pleasure, Anders begged for release. Release Fenris happily granted; his own hot upon him.

“Come for me, Anders,” he moaned. _“Come... come... come....”_

_“Fen... Fen... Fenris! I’m... nnnnnnnggggghhhhhhhh!”_

The bliss. The pure, unadulterated bliss.

They panted in recovery, twitching through the aftermath. In time, he struggled off of the flattened mage, and disengaged, pulling him into his arms. 

“Maker,” Anders breathed. “I really do say _Fen-Fen,_ don’t I?”

Fenris smiled, whispering, “I am your _Fen-Fen-Fenris.”_

\--------------------------------

He was awakened several nights later by a very excited Anders.

“Wake up! You’ve got to see this!”

Fenris groaned, and rolled over. “It’s still dark. Come back to bed.”

 _“Get up!”_ he insisted, pulling the blankets away.

 _“Fasta vass_... what is it?"

_“Come on!”_

He staggered across the sand, the chill breeze on his naked body waking him. Anders stopped, and gestured broadly at the shoreline. Fenris’ eyes widened, taking in the display.

The water was shot through with glowing blue. Anywhere white should have been; in waves, splashes against rocks, movement, was glowing blue. 

“Did you do that?”

“No! Isabela talked about it, once. There’s something in the water that makes it glow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was stunning. Anders moved toward the water, and Fenris caught him.

“It could be dangerous... or poisonous.. or something.”

“Nah. People swim in it. Come on, let’s go in.”

Fenris allowed himself to be pulled along, and watched as his feet stirred-up glowing blue, just by moving through the water. He smiled, and dove in.

Everywhere they moved, they left a trail of glowing blue. He watched Anders stroke through the water, like he was painting with his entire body. They frolicked, splashing, spinning, trailing hands along the surface.

Fenris stood shoulder deep, slowly twisting his torso back and forth, fanning his arms across the water, watching the blue swirl and float on his little wakes. The motion caught his eye for more than its beauty. Something in the motion... in the way his arm sent water pushing ahead, with a swirling eddy behind....

He spun, thrusting his hand forward, and sent a pile of driftwood near the shore flying across the sands. He did it again, spinning, and sent a billow of sand flying. Both times, one direction only, no explosions. 

“Fenris!” Anders was coming through the water toward him. “How did you do it?”

“I’m not sure. It just... revealed itself. Look....” He put his hand under the water, and made a pushing gesture. A wave of glowing blue shot away from him, as though something large was moving through the water at high speed. 

Anders whooped, and hugged him. He smiled, yet didn’t feel the same sort of elation. He felt... accomplished. He’d found it, on his own. He’d recalled something from his past, that had been taken from him. He could practice with it, and keep it from escaping, and use it to protect what was important to him. And perhaps, destroy the one who sought to destroy him. 

In the weeks remaining, he refined his new skill. Anders called it his _push_ spell. Indeed, that’s how it felt; as though he pushed his energy in a particular direction... hard. The small force spells Anders had taught him allowed him much greater accuracy. As he worked with his new skill, they discovered that the smaller the area of effect, the weaker the force. 

“Well, it could be the focus required to narrow the area consumes some of the energy,” Anders surmised. “You still threw Hawke pretty hard, so it’s not without uses.”

“Oh... it has uses. All of my magic has uses. And, there is only one thing on which I wish to use it.”

“One _thing,_ or one _person?”_

“He _is_ a thing. A malignant thing. A cancerous growth on the body of the world.”

Anders smiled gently, nodding. “I remember when you called your magic cancer.”

“I did not understand, then. As uncontrolled as my magic was, it still did less harm than one evil person is capable. Look at Ser Alrik. He was no mage, yet he was every bit the cancer Danarius is.”

“Have we met a templar who isn’t a cancer, Fenris?”

“I believe so. Ser Thrask.”

Anders looked surprised, then nodded. “You may be right.”

“And possibly, Knight Captain Cullen--”

_“WHAT?”_

“Neria found him kind, and innocent, at one time. Possibly, he’d have stayed that way, had he not been tortured by blood mages, and then sent to the Gallows.”

“I was tortured in the Circle, but I didn't turn into a bigoted proponent of abuse.”

“You are different men, with different strengths. I am not defending his behaviors, Anders. I am simply hoping there are _some_ good people in the Templar Order.” 

“I’m not holding my breath. Regardless, I’m _so_ happy you accept your magic, Fenris.”

“I... began to accept it, shortly after my Harrowing.”

“I'm not really comfortable calling it that. Harrowing's are unjust.”

“Regardless, it was only then I fully realized what you’ve been telling me all along. I am not a danger because of the power I possess. I am a danger only if I let myself be.”

Anders’ eyes glowed with pride. “The caterpillar’s left its cocoon, and become a butterfly.”

“In large due to your efforts, Anders.”

“All I did was give you opportunity. You did the rest.”

“I have reason to fear what has hurt me. I have reason to hate what I feared. But, I extended that hate to innocent people. I have met many good mages; Bethany, Maira, Neria, Arnaud, Marethari. Even young Alain, who still suffers in the Gallows. If they exist, perhaps others do.”

“You don’t mention me, in that list.”

“You are peerless. You are the finest example of what a mage should be. You fight for them all, in a way they are unable. Somehow, some day, you will heal them of the cancer which besets them.” 

Anders looked overwhelmed. “Fenris... you know I’m trying to free mages. I know you don’t agree with that. What if I succeed?”

“It would be madness.”

“And, you’d accept that?”

“I would have little choice. Yet, I also do not accept what is happening in the Circles.”

“That’s a wide swath of grey you’re straddling, Fenris.”

“I never said it was comfortable.”

“What if I die, trying? What if _you_ die in my trying?” 

Fenris took him in his arms. “I understood your mission before I courted you. Men like us do not have the luxury of a secure future. Yet, if there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly, at your side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one moon’s name is canon. The other moon has no known name, yet. The rest of the Old God-dragon-Qunari theorizing is just crack-Anders. :-)
> 
> Just to be clear: Fenris isn't making a 180 in his thinking. He's simply realized magic itself isn't the danger. He still sees mages as having the potential of great misdeeds, due to their powers, but also acknowledges mages have the same potential for good.


	30. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amid increased tension in the city, Anders receives a gift.

The city was going to the Void in a hand-basket.

Knight Commander Meredith was losing her mind. 

Anders stalked up the stairway to Hawke’s estate, exhausted from a long day at the clinic, and a long meeting with the Mage Underground. His letters had come to naught. No matter the horrors he described, no matter the law-breaking he revealed, the Chantry and Divine were dead-set on ignoring them. 

Meredith squeezed the mages into submission. The more she squeezed, they more they resisted. The more they resisted, the more she squeezed. It was a vicious circle. He huffed a bitter laugh. Vicious Circle, was right.

He passed through the main house, and out the front door, unnoticed. He entered his own home, the same way; Fenris apparently still out. Just as well, he needed time to calm down. He went to his room, started the fire with a quick spell, and tossed his robe and boots in the direction of the wardrobe.

He stretched out on his bed, gazing at the celestial mural above. He missed the cove, already. He felt better, there. He felt... normal. 

In truth, he hadn’t felt normal since he’d lit his first accidental fire, at twelve. But, what he’d learned from Fenris last spring had severely altered his self concept.

Of course, he’d known he hadn’t emerged from that cell unscathed. He knew he was... off. But, he hadn’t realized to what extent. Hadn’t known he was still so damaged. It had been a shock, to say the least.

For a while, he’d wished Fenris had never told him. Wished he hadn’t known. Then, as the shock eased, he was grateful. He understood certain memories better. He understood himself better. And, it reaffirmed his devotion to the mage plight. He wanted no one else to suffer as he had. Justice agreed, he felt it strongly.

Since returning from the cove, Justice had been much more present. Not in a take-over-and-destroy way. It was more compatible. Fenris said the spirit was taking on some of his qualities; and he thought he could feel the easier fit. There was a transparency between Justice and he, a freer flow of information and comprehension. So, he felt the spirit’s impatience, clearly. An impatience he shared. 

Both spirit and host were relieved Fenris accepted their mission. Anders was more surprised than Justice. Possibly because he’d halfway expected Fenris to end things between them the day he’d broken down and bawled like a baby.... like a crazy person. But, he hadn’t. That beautiful elf had simply reaffirmed his devotion, going so far as to say they were perfectly matched, even with his insanity.

No. He wasn’t insane. _He was wounded._ He was the starry sky, with both darkness and light. 

He sighed, and rolled over, hugging his pillow to his chest. The fate of mages in Southern Thedas rested in the hands of a possessed madman.

No. He wasn’t mad. _He was scarred._ He was a good and caring man. He was _Anders._

He was tired. 

He was awakened by a soft, barely-there weight on his chest. A cold, gentle touch on his chin. Fenris’ snow? He opened his eyes, and nearly crossed them, trying to focus on the creature staring back. He must still be asleep, and dreaming. A shadow sat on his breastbone. A shadow with huge golden eyes.

“Oh... sweet Andraste... a kitten! Where did you come from, little kitty? Oh, you are the sweetest little thing!” He sat up, cradling the diminutive fluff-ball to his chest. It was then he realized Fenris was sitting next to his feet. 

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? Just _look_ at it!” He tilted the kitten’s rear. “At him! Where did you find him?”

“Merrill mentioned the shopkeeper’s cat had another litter. By the time I got there, the runt was the only one left. Even so, I got into a bidding war over for him.” 

“Fenris... you found a cat? _For me?”_

“Unless you don’t want him.”

“Not want him! Oh, just look at him. A little, black-as-night, baby-boy kitten! With big golden eyes, and wee little claws, and the tiniest, little black nose.”

Fenris chuckled. “He is yours, you baby-talking fool.”

He was nearly ecstatic. He cradled it against his cheek, and pulled Fenris to him for a very grateful kiss. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I... think I might. What will you call him?”

“Oh, I can’t just _pick_ a name. It has to come to me, as we get to know him.”

“We can call him Flea Bite, until then. He’s crawling.”

“You just let me take care of that. Yes, we will, won’t we little fella? Yes, we will!”

Anders immediately set about supplying the kitten with all it would need. After several days of watching it eat, drink, play, and sleep, he decided it was healthy, for all it was young. Younger than he’d like a kitten to be taken from its mother. But, Fenris said the cat’s owner was selling them off at exorbitant prices, and he was just as glad to have gotten the kitten, if it was being handed off, regardless.

“I’ve never heard of anyone _paying_ for a cat,” he commented. He and Fenris sat on his bed, watching as it made its roly-poly way across the quilt, investigating everything with curious nose-taps. “You usually can’t give a litter of kittens away.”

“The city’s short on felines. Mice are running rampant. I scoffed at your comment about mice in the house, but you’re right. I can hear them in the walls.” The kitten investigated the elf’s bare foot, then found itself captured. Fenris held it in front of his face, examining it. It gave a tiny mew, and he smirked. “Such a little thing. A mouse could catch it, as easily.”

“He’s small, but he’s brave,” Anders commented. “He hasn’t shirked from any new encounters. He pounced on a spider, earlier.”

“Did he kill it?” 

“He tripped over his own feet, and it got away.”

Fenris chuckled, then held it to his nose. “What’s that?”

“I rubbed a mix of crushed herbs into his fur, to repel fleas.” 

Fenris sniffed again. “He makes me hungry.”

Anders chuckled. “It’s the mint. Fenris... why did you get me this cat?”

“You desired one.”

“And, that’s all?”

Fenris frowned, rubbing the kitten’s ears. “I truly wished to make you happy. I know you’re still bothered by what I told you. I thought a cat might bring you some peace... or simply, some joy.”

Anders looked at him with frank adoration. “You truly are the light in my soul.”

Fenris shook his head. “Your soul is alight without my aid, Anders. You simply have trouble seeing it.”

\-----------------------------

“Holy crap, Blondie... what’s on your shoulder?”

Anders smirked, moving around the table to sit beside Fenris. 

“His feathers are coming alive,” Isabela suggested. 

“Oh! You got one of the kittens!” Merrill cooed. “It blends right in with the feathers, doesn’t it?”

“He’s tearing them out, trying to hold on,” Fenris commented. 

In the last couple weeks, Anders had been teaching the kitten to ride on his shoulders, or in his pack. He was getting the hang of it, enjoying his elevated view of the world. Once Anders sat at the table, it carefully made its way down his arm, and hopped on the tabletop to investigate.

“Cover your mugs,” Fenris warned. “He has a liking for ale.”

Varric laughed aloud. “He gets drunk, I’m not keeping him in my bed, tonight.”

Anders grinned indulgently, as the round-bellied kitten attacked Varric’s quill. “We don’t let him drink, but he’ll try.”

“What’s his name?” Merrill asked, gazing at the kitten’s antics.

“He doesn’t have one, yet.”

“How about Blackie?” she suggested.

“Ummm... I don’t think so.”

Varric shrugged. “What’s wrong with Cat?”

“Cat? _Cat?_ You’re the king of nick-names, and the best you come up with is Cat?”

“Daisy took my other option. Blackie and Blondie... that’s a winning combination.”

 _“Cat,”_ Anders scoffed.

“He’s barely a cat,” Fenris commented. “You should see him on the floor at the mansion. He’s so small, he looks like a smudge.”

“That’s it!” Anders declared. “Smudge!” 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Varric said. “You scoff at Blackie and Cat, and go for _Smudge?”_

“Yes, I do. Don’t I, little Smudgie-wudgie? Do you like your name? Aren’t you just a little, bitty smudge in the dark?”

Fenris smirked. “It’s appropriate. I’m pleased with his coloring. He’ll blend with the night, once he begins exploring the city.”

Hawke showed up, just then. “Oh! Whose kitten? She’s adorable!”

“She’s a he, Hawke, and he’s Blondie’s.”

Hawke scooped up the kitten, and began baby-talking worse than Anders.

“Ready to trade in your big, slobbering mutt for a proper pet?” Anders asked.

“That big, slobbering mutt saved my life, today. Another dwarf attacked me, just outside my door.”

“That’s it, Hawke,” Varric said. “I’m looking into this. It sounds like a carta hit.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hawke said, still loving on the kitten. “He smells delicious. What’s his name?”

“Smudge.”

“Ohhhhhh.... it’s perfect! He’s so tiny. Just Smudge, though? After Ser Pounce-a-lot, I’d expected a grander title.”

“Nah. He’s a no-nonsense kind of cat. Simple suits him.”

“Suits me, as well,” Fenris said with a smirk.

“Don’t think I didn’t consider that,” Anders said. “After all, you’re his daddy.”

“I am _not_ that cat’s daddy.”

“Well, what’s that make you, Anders?” Hawke asked.

“His papa,” he declared.

Varric laughed. “Who’d of thought the two of you would be parents?”

 _“Festis bei umo canavarum,”_ Fenris muttered.

Anders took the kitten from Hawke. “Don’t you pay any attention to your daddy,” he said. “He just has trouble expressing his feelings.”

Fenris scowled, and took the kitten out of his hands. “Don’t you pay any attention to _Papa,_ over there. I am _no one’s_ daddy.” He pulled something from his hip pouch, and gave it to Smudge, who gnawed at it greedily.

“What’s that?” 

“Piece of dried herring.”

Ducking his head, Anders bit back a laugh. No... Fenris was no daddy. He just carried around the one food he detested, for a kitten to snack on. Nothing daddy-like about that.

\---------------------------

He should never had gone into the Warden Prison. The darkspawn were bad enough. But, the deep roads had never been this bad. Of course, this was so much more than ‘normal’ deep roads. That... _thing._ A monstrosity. A creature of Blighted power, who’d entered his mind, and compelled him. 

He’d nearly been driven mad... as though he had far to go. If not for Fenris... Fenris... at his side, touching him, reassuring him, reminding him he was with him.

The final battle was horrendous. He was forced to fight both the voices inside and the terror without. He didn’t know how he’d survived it. Yet, even when it was done, and his mind was his own, he faced another horror. The monstrosity... _Corypheus..._ was dead. But, what had it been? Was it truly an ancient magister, imprisoned for millennia? Was it truly one of The Seven? Had it walked the halls of the Golden City, and been cast down as the first darkspawn? Was Chantry propaganda actually true?

The trip home was a blur. He walked beside Fenris, gripping his hand, uncaring of the biting gauntlet, wishing Smudge had been older, able to accompany them on the mission. Instead, he was at home, watched after by Orana.

“Anders?” Hawke walked beside him. “You alright?”

“Fine,” he said, lying through his teeth. “Just... tired.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“No... no,” he said. “I’m happy to help.” 

“It’s just, when it’s the deep roads... I think ‘Grey Warden,’ you know?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t? It all came out right in the end.”

She nodded, moving off to talk with Varric. Fenris didn’t comment on his performance.

“Stay with me,” Anders whispered.

“I’m right here.”

At last, they made it home. Home... to a playful kitten bumbling down the stairs. To a hot bath shared with Fenris. To a warm bed, and warm arms, and soft words whispered in his ear. 

_You are my soul, and I am yours, and I will light your darkness, no matter what shape it takes._

To sleep, infested by dreams. Darkspawn buzzing, dark tunnels, dark cells without light or sound or freedom. Screaming into the darkness, fists bloodied from pounding on the walls, _LET ME OUT... LET ME OUT... LET ME OUT._

To a cry in the night, waking him from his nightmare, to find Fenris ensnared in his own. Lyrium fluttering like a guttered candle, flickering with remembered agony.

_“Master... I beg you... the pain... the pain....”_

Waking him, sweated, gasping, and trembling. 

“Don’t touch me... the markings... they burn.”

But they didn’t, not in truth. The _memory_ burned. The memory of pain forged by an evil magister, through experiments and punishments. Anders lit the candles and lamps, bringing light to their darkness. They lay side-by-side, calming their hearts; Anders’ hand on the sleeping kitten between them, Fenris’ hand about his wrist. Until dreams faded to a place that no longer hurt.

“The cell?” Fenris finally asked.

“Yeah. Danarius?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

Fenris looked thoughtful. “Seeing that... _thing..._ seeing what a magister is truly capable of... it was disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting? It scared the shit out of me.”

“What truly frightened me was watching as it molested your mind.”

“Yeah. That, too. I don’t know what I’d have done, if you weren’t there.”

“You’d have managed. You always have.”

“I’d rather not manage without you.”

“Nor I,” Fenris replied. “We... do well, together.”

“Fade and lyrium.”

“Fade and lyrium.”

\--------------------------------

It was Satinalia, and Hawke was hosting a celebration at her estate. It wasn’t her style to throw lavish affairs, but it was in the name of playing the politics game. Meredith had demonstrated a willingness to offend even the Champion, by attacking Anders last winter. Now, Hawke was going to draw as much of the city’s support into her favor, as possible. She was courting Kirkwall, by inviting it to her home. Most of the city was invited; both noble, and not-so noble. 

She’d asked her companions to at least make an appearance. Having their faces associated with Hawke could lend them some degree of respectability. They’d all laughed. Laughed, and agreed to come.

Food and drink flowed freely, merriment and laughter abounded. A small group of musicians played, turning it into more than the usual Diamondback game around her kitchen table.

Anders was there, Fenris at his side, hating every moment of it. He felt naked, number one. Hawke had tossed a package at him earlier in the day, with the directive, “Wear it.” It turned out to be a pair of low boots, a snug pair of trousers, and an embroidered tunic. They were all dark brown, and of fine, embellished, velvety material. He sighed, knowing to argue was futile. 

Surprisingly, Fenris was in agreement, and went to the trouble of grooming him for the occasion. Sitting before him, freshly shaved, hair being trimmed, Anders complained.

“Why do I have to wear fancy, new togs, and you don’t?”

“Because, I said no.”

“That’s not fair.”

Fenris snorted. “You speak of fairness, knowing what you do of injustice? Anders, how many elves do you see at noble estates?”

“Plenty.”

“How many that are not servants?”

He fidgeted. “None.”

“Exactly. I would stand out in an unwelcome way for her high-class guests.”

“Well, why can’t I be low class, in my own clothes?”

“Because you look like an apostate in your ratty robes. That would frighten the guests more than I do. Tonight, you are a nobleman visiting Kirkwall from Ferelden, and I am your bodyguard.”

“We’re not going undercover, for Maker’s sake.”

“No, but we are trying to associate our faces with respectability. Don’t mistake my acceptance of the evening as pleasure. I have no desire to attend.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look noble. And... handsome.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“I know you are. I will be busy keeping all other hands off of you.”

“Just don’t break anyone’s bones. It wouldn’t be _respectable.”_

Fenris looked deflated. “That was all I had to look forward to.”

Hawke’s house received a constant flow of arriving and departing guests. There were dozens of such parties in Hightown; and people made the rounds to most of them. Anders found a place to loiter near Varric, which turned-out to be a wise choice. The dwarf really did know most of the city; common, noble, dwarf, elf... he had a ready biography, with anecdote, for nearly every person who came through the door. 

“... he’s got a cousin in the Circle; hates Meredith more than you. His brother, in the waistcoat, is a pious admirer of the Knight Commander.”

“How do you know all this?” Anders asked. 

“I listen, Blondie. Oops, heads-up. Lavender-skirt coming this way has been husband-hunting for years. You’re just her type.”

Fenris took an intimidating stance in front of him. Lavender-skirt hesitated, then found someone else to admire.

“I don’t get it. If everyone sees me as a respectable noble, won’t they wonder why I’m running around Kirkwall in apostate robes?”

“People are funny,” Varric said. “They won’t recognize you, later, because you won’t fit their memory of you from tonight. But, something about your face will make them think, _hey, that guy looks alright, really.”_

“Whatever. I’m getting tired of this party. If I hear one more person declare, _‘I never,’_ I’m leaving.”

“Well, Blondie, I never! You could take a page out of Isabela’s book. She’s scouting the noble delights.”

“Why does she get to wear a blouse and smallpants, and I’m stuck in velvet pajamas?”

“Do you wish to wear a blouse and smallpants?” Fenris asked.

“Maybe. I’m roasting in this get-up.”

Fenris took his arm, guiding him toward the kitchen.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace quiet, so you can simmer down.”

“I don’t need to _simmer down._ I’m not a child.”

“Would you rather mingle?”

He shuddered. “No. Put me in a corner to think about what I’ve done.”

Fenris led them through the door toward the cellars. Closing it behind them, the music, chatter, and tittering laughter died away. A long flight of stairs was before them, leading to the wine cellar. They sat on the steps, breathing sighs of relief.

“They’re all so full of themselves, so caught up in intrigue and fashion, without a clue to what’s really happening in the world. How does Hawke stand them?”

“She doesn’t. You know why she’s doing this.”

“I suppose I should appreciate her effort.”

“The gathering is difficult for me, as well, Anders. It is too reminiscent of my time at Danarius’ heel, attending social events.”

“Let’s go, then. Head on down to the clinic....”

“We should bid a proper farewell to Hawke, and walk out the front door. For appearances’ sake.”

 _“Ugh._ Can we just stay here, for a while?”

“Of course.”

Anders kissed him in gratitude. Then again, for the joy of it. Then again, for the pleasure. Before he knew it, Fenris was straddling his lap, limbs and tongues intertwined. Fenris tugged at the drawstring on Anders’ trousers.

“Fenris... we’ve got nowhere to take this.”

“Here is fine.” Indeed, the elf was pulling him out of his smalls, and going down on his knees to take him in his mouth.

“Oh, Maker. Fenris... _ahhhhhhhhhhh.”_

It felt good. Amazing. Yet, he couldn’t get what Fenris had said out of his mind; the evening reminded him of Danarius. He would not have him kneeling with the memory so recent.

Panting, Anders lifted him up. “You in me, or me in you?”

“You in me,” Fenris panted in return, pulling one leg free of his leggings. 

He cast his spell, picking Fenris up. “I’m taking you right here, against this wall,” he growled, the mere idea inflaming him. 

“Stop talking about it, and do it,” Fenris growled in return.

So, he did.

He could still hear the party on the other side of the door; voices, crystal clinking, music. Here, it was grunts and gasps, and the lewd slide and slap of his cock driving into Fenris’ body.

His arms hooked under the elf’s legs, Fenris’ arms wrapped about his neck. The elf’s body slammed against the wall, over and over. His groans grew louder.

“Anders... deeper... _venhedis....”_

“Fuck, you feel amazing like this.”

_“Ungghh.... ungghh... unngghh....”_

The door to the kitchen slammed open, a familiar laugh cut-off in surprise. Anders’ heart nearly gave out, as he turned himself to cover Fenris, tucking the elf’s head under his chin.

_“MAKER’S SAKE, ISABELA! Shut the damned door!”_

“I didn’t realize this stairway was taken. Nice booty, Anders.”

As the door pulled shut, he sagged against Fenris, and made to ask if he was alright. His mouth was sealed in a very hot, very eager kiss. 

_“Fasta vass..._ don’t leave me on edge, like this!”

With a disbelieving huff, he picked up where he’d left off, only slightly softened by the unexpected visit. 

“That didn’t bother you?” he gasped, thrusting.

“I couldn’t care less... _unngghh...._ no shame... in our... _unngghhhh..._ pleasure.... Anders.... close....”

_“Fen... Fen... Fenris... gahhhhhhhh!”_

With a groan, Fenris followed. He sank to the steps, the elf on his lap. He felt him nuzzling into his shoulder, and smiled. 

“I believe I have made a mess of your finery,” Fenris confessed.

“Good. I hate this finery, Fen-Fen.” 

Fenris snorted. Anders only used that term in deepest sarcasm.

They finally pulled apart, and put themselves back together. Fenris was right... there was a conspicuous, damp stain on the front of his tunic. With luck, he could pass it off as a food-spill, and excuse his early departure. A quiet knock on the door startled them. Isabela stuck her head through the cracked door.

“I thought you might need this,” she winked, holding out a damp towel. “Amateurs... _never_ in velvet, boys.” 

Fenris took the towel, and closed the door. Chuckling, Anders mopped himself up as best he could. A furtive exit from the stairway, a quick goodbye to Hawke, and they were out the door.

“Your hair’s a mess,” Fenris observed as they walked the dark streets home.

“The back of your tunic’s tucked into your leggings,” Anders replied.

Both snorted. “So much for our faces being associated with respectability.”

“It was never going to amount to anything, Fenris. I appreciate Hawke going to the effort, but there’s just no way a party is going to change things. Meredith’s gone around the bend. Things will only get worse, no matter how many nobles prefer Hawke over the Knight Commander.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I wish I knew. I’ve wracked my brain, trying to think of something. I’ve fought, argued, written, begged... I’ve tried every peaceful means to bring about change I can think of. No one hears. No one cares. I just don’t know how to make them _see.”_

“I’m sorry, Anders. If I could help, I would. There must be some way to compromise.” 

“I haven’t seen one, yet. Even if there was, would it be enough? Would anyone listen?”

“I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders still struggles with the recent revelation of his psyche's damage. He's working to integrate that knowledge.


	31. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris meets his past.
> 
> Anders is distracted.

Danarius was dead.

He was dead, and at Fenris’ own hand. He was dead, and would never again threaten him, or hurt him, or enslave him. 

_He. Was. Dead._

Fenris paced the floor. He was filled with nervous energy and memories, old and new. Seeing him... hearing him... smelling him, had been like a physical blow. He’d been nearly frozen seeing him come down the stairs. And, then... the words he’d chosen: 

_“Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable, as always.”_

_His_ Fenris? His _little_ Fenris? He’d almost forgotten how Danarius diminished him, at every turn. Reminding him of his position, of his helplessness. And now, after nearly a decade of freedom, he did so, again. 

Because of _her._ She led him there! _His own sister!_ Led him to Kirkwall, to hand her brother to the monster who would kill or enslave him. To the monster who could see him only as a slave, assuming Hawke was his new mistress.

_“The lad is rather skilled, isn’t he?”_

Speaking with ill-disguised innuendo, discussing his performance, as he so often had, so long ago. Insinuating the humiliating truth of his past. Well... there were things about his past Danarius hadn’t anticipated.

_“Shut your mouth, Danarius!”_

With a single push, he’d sent the magister flying across the tavern. The look on his face had been priceless. Then, shock disappeared behind a snarl of fury, and the battle was on.

With magic and might, he fought for his freedom. With companions and lover, he drove back those who would see him kneel. And, it wasn’t easy. Danarius was strong, his guard many. His shields were nearly impossible to penetrate, and his retinue of mages buttressed his defense. Demons were summoned... of course, _always_ demons. 

Fenris fought with everything he had, every magical and martial skill at his disposal. As a slave, he’d fought for his master’s safety and pleasure. How Danarius had enjoyed watching him perform. Fenris hoped he watched now, because he’d never put more heart into it than today. He _could not_ lose this fight.

And yes, even through the advance and retreat of battle, Fenris rejoiced in every flicker of confusion, every blink of surprise in Danarius’ expression. He saw Anders had been right, all along. He was strong enough to challenge the magister. Danarius _did_ fear his power. For the first time, slave held dominion over master.

Hawke’s crew beat down Danarius’ guard. Mage, soldier, demon... all fell to the efforts of light, and right. On the tavern floor, slick with blood, the fight dwindled down to two. At last, there remained only the magister and Fenris; dueling alone. 

His friends had stood back, ready to assist, but allowing Fenris the right to destroy the last of his chains. Ice and force met Danarius spell for spell. Blade and lyrium hounded him across the room. Every strategy he’d learned, every spell rediscovered, beat the magister down. 

Finally, too weak to cast a shield, mana and strength depleted, Danarius staggered. And, he who had never shown Fenris the smallest of mercies, found himself with none in return.

Whipped about the tavern by force magic, Danarius slammed from one wall to the other, and from ceiling to floor. Every blow Fenris had ever received, every experiment to which he’d been subjected, every indignity he had suffered, was repaid. Lips drawn in a snarl, he threw the magister about the room like a macabre doll. When the broken body was barely recognizable, he let it fall in a crumpled heap. Fenris had no idea if the pile of flesh yet lived, but he was taking no chances. Phasing his hand into its throat, he’d lifted the limp form off the floor; to dangle at his whim. Dead or no, Fenris had something to say to the magister. He spoke succinctly, to ensure every word was understood, by every ear present.

_“YOU ARE NO LONGER MY MASTER!”_

__

And, using the powers with which he’d been imbued by the master of evil, himself; Fenris snapped Danarius’ neck. He was dead.

__

And, Fenris was free.

__

As was his sister. 

__

He’d been fully prepared to kill her for her betrayal. She played on his sympathy... their mother had died, she’d had no choice. Yet, what sympathy had she shown him, by leading Danarius here? No. She would die. Before he could strike the killing blow, a very familiar figure stepped between them.

__

“Fenris... no,” Anders said. “Don’t do it.”

__

“Why not? She was ready to see me killed!”

__

“She’s your sister.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “Please, Fenris. Don’t dim the light inside you.”

__

He looked into the beloved amber eyes, saw the entreaty in them. He sighed, and turned to the cowering woman.

__

_“GET OUT!”_

__

But, she wasn’t through with her surprises. She unveiled one more, before going out the door. He’d asked for the markings. He’d fought for them. _He’d wanted them._

__

His sister left, and emotion drained from him. The anger he’d felt was gone. The jubilation he should have felt at Danarius’ death, absent. 

__

“I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging. But, I was wrong. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone.”

__

“Are you?” 

__

He looked up, at the face he adored, into eyes that told him he was not alone. Reaching out, he caressed Anders’ face. 

__

He’d needed to go... too many emotions, too many memories. Of course, Anders understood.

__

So, he’d walked out the door of the tavern, leaving behind the broken body of he who had shaped him; he who had scarred his body... his mind... his very life. And, leaving behind the only family he had; who had betrayed him, nonetheless.

__

He’d returned to the mansion some time ago. He’d expected Anders would follow him, yet he had not. Fenris bathed, changed into clean clothes, and spent an hour running events through his mind. Still, Anders didn’t return.

__

He wandered into Anders’ room, and simply stood, taking it in. It smelled of the herbs drying on the rack, and almost hidden under that, the faintly acrid scent of a sandbox in the farthest corner. His bed was unmade, the embroidered pillow tangled in the bedding. An open journal sat on his desk, surrounded by quills and parchment. The small food bowls near the hearth; and scattered feathers, bits of string, and wine corks betrayed the kitten’s presence. The wardrobe stood ajar, clothes clean and neatly stored; though all of them threadbare, with signs of repeated repair.

__

Anders’ room felt like him. A room of healing tools, humble belongings, and a playful kitten. Just standing in it was like being embraced by the man. 

__

He lay on the bed, and pulled the pillow to his chest. It smelled faintly of the crushed herbs Anders rubbed into Smudge’s fur. The ceiling mural of the night sky triggered so many memories. Lying on Anders’ cot, the night after he’d been brought back to life. Lying on the diving rock, creating beauty with their magic. Lying on the roof of the mansion, exploring their first pleasures. 

__

Anders filled his memories of the past three years. During those years he’d also filled his time, his thoughts, his arms, and his soul. How he wished he were here, now. He buried his face in the pillow, surrounded by Anders, and let exhaustion pull him into sleep.

__

He awoke in near darkness, heat running the length of his back, and a warm weight across his waist. Soft bursts of warm air caressed his neck, and he knew Anders had joined him, spooning behind him on the bed. Delicate purring sounded from the pillow beside him; Smudge, resembling his name in the dim lighting.

__

Rolling over to face him, he was pulled closer. Anders was minus his robe and boots. He blinked sleepily, looking at Fenris with concern.

__

“You’re alright?” he asked.

__

“I... do not know. Where did you go, afterward?”

__

“I had to speak with someone.” He brushed Fenris’ hair out of his face. “How do you feel?”

__

He sighed. How did he feel? “I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet... it doesn’t feel like it should.”

__

“How does it feel?”

__

“I thought if I didn’t need to run and fight to stay alive, I’d finally be able to live as a free man does. But how is that? My sister is gone, and I have nothing. Not even an enemy.”

__

“You feel you have nothing?”

__

He squirmed... he wasn’t good at expressing feelings.

__

“I have much, I know that. You... friends... a home. But, all that has driven me, all that I have sought--good or bad--is gone.”

__

He tucked his head under Anders’ chin, feeling the warmth of him, the strong hand moving along his back. It took Anders a moment to reply.

__

“I understand. You know... you could join me in my cause, if you liked. It’s your cause, too.”

__

“You were there, today. You can see why it’s difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life. If I seem bitter, it’s not without cause.”

__

“The stain _people_ left. Magic was just their tool.”

__

He sighed. “Yes... I know.”

__

He stroked his fingers along Anders’ stubbled jaw, warmth filling his chest. “I’m grateful you were there, today. Facing him... I cannot describe it.”

__

“You fought beautifully.”

__

“Thanks to you.”

__

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

__

He sighed. “As am I. I had hoped to reclaim my past. What little I learned was worse than not knowing.”

__

Anders kissed him; soft and soothing. Then, he stood, extending a hand.

__

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

__

A simple meal, followed by wine in front of the fire, and he began to relax. Smudge trotted into the room, and stretched out before the hearth. He was growing quickly, grace replacing his bumbling kittenish ways. Anders said he was small for his age, but healthy, for which Fenris was grateful. 

__

Although Justice leveled Anders’ moods, Smudge never failed to bring a smile to his face, or calm his frustration. It traveled nearly everywhere with him, by now; and trotted to him when called. They had a strong, strange connection, which was exactly what Fenris had hoped. 

__

He realized Anders was throwing glances at Fenris.

__

“Something on your mind, Anders?”

__

“Fenris... after you left the tavern, I followed Varania.”

__

“For what reason?”

__

“She had something that was rightfully yours. Perhaps you won’t want it. But I have it, if you do.”

__

“I want nothing of hers.”

__

“Not just hers, Fenris. Yours. _Your past._ I convinced her to tell me some of your life before the markings.” He pulled folded parchment out of his pocket. “I wrote it down.”

__

His heart stumbled. _His life._

__

“Fenris?”

__

“How... why would she tell you?”

__

“With Danarius dead, his ship refused to take her back to Tevinter unless she paid passage. She had nothing with which to pay.”

__

“You paid her way to Tevinter? With what?”

__

“With every coin I possess, and all my lyrium potions.”

__

“How can you be sure she told you the truth?”

__

“We’ll know it’s true, if you to remember.” He tapped Fenris’ forehead. “Like the spells you relearned, your memories are locked inside you. Hearing them should bring them to the forefront. That’s my theory, anyway.”

__

He was dumbfounded. Anders had gathered his sister’s memories, to give to him. And, at considerable expense.

__

“I... think... I would like to know.”

__

Anders looked at him carefully, then nodded. He unfolded the parchment, and began to read. With great detail, Anders described pieces of his childhood. Descriptions of people, places, games, significant events. 

__

As he spoke, memories that had twice surfaced and submerged, began to drift out of the murky depths. Things Anders read took shape in his mind. His mother... Anders said her name, and Fenris saw her. Saw the dress she wore, smelled the sachet in her pocket, heard her voice. 

__

He had been born in Seheron, but their mother never spoke of their life before leaving the island. She’d sold all three of them into slavery to pay for their travel to the mainland. An act that brought them all to the estate of Magister Danarius.

__

His magic manifested young, and strongly. He was trained, as all mages, free or slave. When he was in his mid-teens, Danarius saw his potential, and took him aside for specialized studies. Learning the ways of ancient Arcane Warriors, he was placed high in Danarius’ retinue of honor guards. 

__

Several years after, the magister discovered the ritual to create a lyrium warrior. He asked for volunteers from his favored slaves, to compete for the chance to undergo the ritual. The winner would become Danarius’ personal bodyguard, prized above all others, and granted a boon. Fenris fought well, and had been chosen, and kept his promise. They’d said good bye, and never too see each other, again.

__

Until a few months ago, when Danarius arrived at the shop in which Varania worked. His friend, Magister Ahriman, had contacted him. A merchant in Kirkwall had written, asking about Varania. Deeply in debt after her mother’s illness, years ago, Varania was in danger of being sold into slavery to pay her creditors. Danarius gave her a choice; he would either escort her to the auction house, or he would pay her debts, and take her as an apprentice. 

__

Fenris’ mind was in tumult. Along with the memories Anders had collected, others were pulled from the depths of his mind by association. Events of which Varania would have no memory, including the emotions involved. His horror when he’d accidentally killed a songbird while practicing spells. His pride, at being singled-out for specialized training. His confusion, when Danarius pushed him to his knees, to perform the first of many personal services. His grief, as he bade his family farewell. 

__

“Fenris! Fenris, let go! You’re hurting me!”

__

He jolted to awareness, fingers being forcibly peeled from Anders’ wrist. He snatched his hand away, gasping for breath. Memories suffocated him. He couldn’t breathe.

__

“You’re hyperventilating. Slow down... try to hold your breath.”

__

_“Anders....”_

__

“I’m right here. Slow your breathing... come on, hold your breath.”

__

In but a moment, his mind cleared, and breathing calmed. He looked at Anders’ concerned face, feeling chagrin.

__

“I... apologize.”

__

“No need. I think a panic attack was warranted in this situation. Are you alright?”

__

“I... am not sure. My mind is still swimming.”

__

“Do you have all your memories back?”

__

“I... do not believe so. They are but a few of many. Yet, it is more than I’d ever hoped to have.”

__

“I’ve got something else, if you think you’re ready for it.”

__

He fished about in his pouch, then handed Fenris a necklace.

__

“Varania was wearing this. I convinced her to part with it.”

__

It was a locket; cheap, and well worn.

__

“Open it,” Anders prompted.

__

Inside, were depictions of two elves. A young man with black hair and green eyes. And, an older woman, who looked much like him. 

__

“My mother,” he breathed.

__

“And, you.”

__

He gazed at the pictures, suddenly relieved he’d not killed Varania. Whatever desperation had driven her, she had been, at one time, a girl who missed her family. He didn’t know if that girl existed now, and didn’t truly care. But, he could hold this, and think of his family as it had once been. His throat was unaccountably thick, when he spoke.

__

“Why would she give this to you?”

__

“I gave her my staff, in exchange.”

__

He looked at him in shock. “Hawke gave you that staff. It’s worth a fortune... a hundred times what this is.”

__

Anders smiled softly. “Fenris... that locket is priceless.”

__

\------------------------------------

__

Fenris kept the locket under his mattress. He took it out, frequently, to look at it. The feelings it engendered were conflicting. He felt warmth at seeing his mother’s likeness. He felt regret, seeing his own. He felt bittersweet, knowing Varania had worn this to remember them; yet had still been willing to sell him into slavery.

__

Of course, she’d been in danger of being sold into slavery, herself. Yet, had the same choice been given to him, he’d have _never_ relegated his sister to such a fate. Trying to sort it all out was excruciating. He wondered if having his memories, and this locket, had truly changed anything. He discussed it with Anders.

__

“I now remember parts of my past, yet along with good feelings, I also have bad. I ached for this knowledge, but was it worth it? Should I have let it lie, untouched? What is best? To not know, and not feel? Or to risk the pain that comes with enlightenment?”

__

“It’s so easy to second-guess,” Anders said, when he’d discussed it with him. “So easy to say I should’ve-would’ve-could’ve. Yet, we can’t really know, can we?”

__

“Do you do this, regarding Justice?”

__

“All the time, since day one.”

__

“Does he feel justice has been served, with Danarius dead?”

__

“For you, absolutely. When you snapped his neck, the strangest feeling came over me. Almost a physical pleasure. It was Justice’s fulfillment.”

__

“And now, he is once again fully focused on the mage plight?”

__

“He always was, Fenris. You were a parallel project, so to speak. The frenzy that once dominated his drive has calmed in the past couple years. But yes, he’s more focused since Danarius went down. We’re still wracking our brains, trying to find a solution.”

__

“Have you?”

__

He’d sighed. “Not really. What would effect an immediate change? How far are we willing to go? Well, how far am _I willing._ He’ll stop at nothing.” He looked at Fenris a moment. “What would you be willing to do, to break the magisters’ hold in Tevinter, and abolish slavery?”

__

Fenris was surprised by the question... and stirred. He’d escaped his slavery, yet it still existed, for tens of thousands of people. 

__

“I don’t know. It’s hard to effect much change, this far from Tevinter.”

__

“But, if you could. If you were able to act, where would you start? With the magisters? With the slaves? How far would you be willing to go, to do it? What if innocents would die in the doing?”

__

The imagery Anders painted was compelling. To see a march against Tevinter, as Andraste had led; with slaves rising up against their masters... he felt an unexpected thrill. 

__

“I’m no tactician, but for the slaves to take arm against the magisters, and slaughter the mages of Tevinter... it’s a compelling image.”

__

“All the mages, Fenris? Are there not mage slaves, such as you were?”

__

“You make a point. Those mages who have been slaves would be unlikely to become as the magisters are. I would not. Although... Varania almost did.”

__

“Slaves would die, in the battle. And common folk, as well. Would it be worth their loss?”

__

“It would be to me, were I in such a situation. Slaves die every day, for blood to fuel party tricks, from beatings, and maltreatment. At least dying in the fight for freedom would have meaning.”

__

Anders nodded, face intent. An intensity that would remain for months to come.

__

\-----------------------------------------

__

“So, you got your memories back, Broody? That’s really something.”

__

“Not all of them. Enough to know some of my life, before.”

__

“Damn. I’m glad for you. I really am.”

__

“Thank you, Varric. I’m pleased, as well.”

__

They were returning to the Gallows after several days searching for three missing mages. They’d found them, too. One had sacrificed his wife with blood magic. One had turned to demons in her effort to stay with the children in her care. Both were dead. The third had returned to the Circle, after a night-out to experience what he’d always dreamed, but could never have. 

__

Anders was fuming. Fury, disguised under a placid expression. A non-threatening, unassuming face, well-practiced after years in the Circle.

__

They stood behind Hawke in the Knight Commander’s office, listening as Meredith described Emile’s cheerful return to the Gallows. She’d planned to execute him on his return, but his father’s impassioned plea had swayed her. 

__

Fenris was appalled. Execute him? He’d returned willingly to the Circle. He’d committed no crime greater than being a fool. Hawke was surprisingly agreeable about the whole affair, happy to have kept the city safe. Safe from a drunken virgin seeking a girl’s company?

__

Anders heard enough and launched into a verbal attack on the Knight Commander. He remained overtly calm, but Fenris knew how strongly he felt.

__

“Not a single thought given to the fact that you templars brought all of this upon yourselves?”

__

Meredith’s gaze was cutting. “Be very careful, mage. Your friendship with the Champion protects you only so much.”

__

“Maybe if you never took Huon from his wife, she wouldn’t be dead. Evelina could be alive, and with the children she risked everything to save!” 

__

Unsurprisingly, Meredith was unmoved.

__

In days to come, Anders became distracted. He spent more time at the clinic, and when home, he was deep in his tomes, researching something he didn’t discuss. It was the first time Fenris had seen him so distant, since they’d first gone to the cove. 

__

Although... perhaps distant was the wrong word. When he wasn’t deep in thought, or research, he was more fully engaged with Fenris than he had ever been. His lovemaking was fervent and intense. He touched him more than usual, and Anders touched _a lot._

__

And, in spite of his focused intensity, Smudge kept his humor intact. Anders would hold amusing conversations with the cat, talking to it as though they understood one another. Smudge was a quiet cat, answering with slow blinks of his eyes, or twitching of his ears. Fenris’ conversations with the creature tended to involve one-word commands; _no,_ or _down._ He enjoyed the cat, but had no tolerance for it stealing food from his hand, or walking on the table as they ate. Beyond that, he was content to let it run amuck. 

__

“Hawke’s going with me into the sewers, today,” Anders said. “And, a couple other places. I need some ingredients for a potion.”

__

“You don’t wish me along?”

__

“It’s the actual _sewer_ part of the sewers. I’m not going to ask you to go down there, barefoot.”

__

“And for that, I am grateful. Be safe. You’re not the only ones who brave the deep tunnels.”

__

He actually was grateful. He’d go without hesitation, if asked. But, even with a lifetime of running barefoot, he avoided walking through shit when he could.

__

He was less grateful, when they’d returned, and he discovered they’d met dragons at the Bone Pit. Anders scoffed.

__

“We’ve met plenty of dragons, Fenris. They were just drakes and young.”

__

“Your robes are scorched! The enchantments are nearly worn off.”

__

“Well... I lost all my coin for new ones sending your sister back to Tevinter.”

__

“I am well aware of that, and am grateful she’s gone. However, I will not have you running about, barely protected.”

__

“I’ve got a new staff, Fenris. I’m not entirely defenseless.”

__

Hawke had been happy to give him another from her considerable supplies. She’d been thrilled Anders had obtained memories from Fenris’ past, as well as the locket. The loss of his staff had been utterly justified, in her mind.

__

“Come with me, dragon-bait. I’m buying you some new clothes.”

__

With Anders protesting, he took him from merchant to merchant, finally finding a set of robes that met the mage’s approval. They were nearly identical to his old ones, but new, well-fitted, and with fresh enchantments. He watched as Anders adjusted his belts and armband, then turned in a circle.

__

“How do I look?”

__

Clad in nearly solid black, feathered pauldrons thick and shiny, he took on a whole new demeanor. Gone was the ragged apostate. Before him stood a man of serious intent. How did he look? With a smirk, Fenris replied. 

__

“Dangerous.”

__


	32. Foreboding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders makes plans.

The city was no longer going to the Void in a hand-basket... it had arrived.

Templars were in every city office, on every street, in sewers and slums. Aveline struggled to maintain a presence, and was still managing, somehow. But, the Knight Commanders’ presence was felt, everywhere.

He’d been infuriated by the results of their hunt for the three missing mages. He’d been upset by Hawke’s blasé reaction to Meredith’s attitude. Ser Karras was making him more and more uneasy; he influenced subordinate templars, and spread hate for mages.

Orsino was acting out, the mages under his wing becoming desperate. He’d staged a demonstration after the turn of the year, and those nobles who’d actually listened had surprisingly been moved. Of course, Meredith showed up, and they argued. Anders had been pleased to see the Grand Cleric still held some control over her... but she’d also completely failed to address any of Orsino’s concerns. She’d sent them back to the Gallows to continue business as usual. And, business as usual was a frightening affair.

Following Danarius’ death, Justice pushed harder for action. Anders was just as driven, and together, they’d formed a plan. He’d found a formula that would allow him closer to his goals. A formula of which Justice approved. A formula for which he’d needed help acquiring ingredients. 

He hadn’t been happy to lie to Hawke, nor mislead Fenris about his reasons for going into the sewers and Bone Pit. Hawke wouldn’t approve, he knew... and he couldn’t have her trying to stop him. But Fenris... that was a different situation 

After their discussion of the hypothetical freeing of Tevinter slaves, Anders was fairly sure Fenris would have little argument for his plan. In fact, he might actually help. But, Anders wouldn’t risk him being involved. He’d just shaken Danarius off his back, forever. He would not let him wear the mantle of a wanted man, again.

After he’d gathered his ingredients, he’d had one final step in his preparations. A step he’d had to delicately negotiate with Hawke. 

“There is one more thing I would ask of you. And, I can’t tell you why. I must get inside the Chantry, without being seen. Will you talk to the Grand Cleric for me? Distract her long enough for me to do what must be done?”

Hawke had been reluctant... strongly reluctant. Yet, she’d finally agreed. He’d felt bad, using her trust, this way. But, this was more important than any work he had ever done. This was more important than any one person, any one friendship. Hundreds... _thousands..._ of mages would be affected by this work.

And, when he’d completed his task... the ecstasy of Justice had nearly overwhelmed him. _This_ was their final accomplishment. _This_ was the spirit’s aspiration. _This_ was going to change everything. _There would be justice._

For seven years, Anders had written letters, published manifestos, tried to talk to Chantry officials; tried to reveal the horrors of, not only the Gallows, but all Circles. No one listened. He’d watched as mage after mage escaped, unequipped for life outside the Circle, only to turn in desperation to blood magic. He’d watched as mage after mage was made Tranquil for imagined crimes, or none at all. He’d heard mage after mage tell stories of torture, rape, abuses without count. 

Everything was now in place. Yet... he hesitated. He knew full well he could be giving his life for this. He’d always known, on some level. And, he was willing to do so. He was confident his plan would work. He was confident Fenris would be safe, without him. And... _oh..._ that’s where he lost his resolve. Leaving Fenris. He didn’t _want_ to leave him. He didn’t want to _hurt_ him. His heart broke just to think about it. 

Yet, the greatest gift he could give Fenris, was freedom. He was free from Danarius. He should also be free from the threat of the Circle. And, Anders could do that. As soon as he’d put things in order. 

Until then, he tried to live life as usual. He followed Hawke on missions. He worked in the clinic. Even so, his mind was elsewhere. The only time he was truly present was while with Fenris. He soaked himself in the elf’s presence. He immersed himself in their love-making. He savored every moment together, because soon, they would have their last.

Surprisingly, Hawke provided him a brief, unexpected diversion. She’d insisted he and Fenris join her to meet a visitor to Kirkwall. They followed her to the Viscount’s Keep, and were immediately on guard. Meredith’s strident tone could be heard from the doorway, berating some unfortunate fool. As it happened, that fool was King Alistair of Ferelden. He stood unflinchingly before the Knight Commander, being soundly tongue-lashed.

Meredith made a last, biting denouncement, and strode away. Anders snickered as Alistair turned to Hawke, saying only, 

“Well. _That_ was awkward.”

Introductions were made, and the more the king spoke, the more Anders understood why he was so dear to Neria’s heart. He shared a glance with Fenris, and saw him shake his head in good humor. He decided to risk an introduction.

“Say... weren’t you a Grey Warden, once?”

Alistair eyed him. “That’s the rumor. Say... weren’t you just at a mountain hideaway with my... uh... Warden Commander?”

“That’s the rumor.”

Alistair chuckled. “She sends her regards, by the way. To you and... well, I suppose it must be you,” he said, nodding at Fenris. 

That warmed him. “Give her ours, as well. If you don’t mind playing the message boy.”

Shaking his head, Alistair sighed. “I miss being a message boy. Being king isn’t nearly as fun.”

From then on, it was a talk of coming calamity, and need to safeguard the city. Anders didn’t listen, knowing it would come to pass, sooner than they thought. He felt his heart sadden, looking at Fenris. But, Justice bolstered him. They were doing right. They were bringing justice. A justice which would protect Fenris, as well. 

Events occurred around him, with little interest. He heard about Hawke looking for Nathaniel in the deep roads, after the fact. She said she hadn’t asked for his help, remembering his trouble in the Warden prison. He just shrugged. He should have cared more. He should have been interested. Yet, Nate was fine; Delilah’s fears laid to rest. The same could not be said for those in the Circle.

Fenris told him of Hawke’s marriage to Sebastian. He tried to make appropriate comments, but he simply didn’t care. Well, he cared on one aspect. Sebastian was a part of the workings of the Chantry, with no interest or empathy for the suffering in the Circle. Why Hawke would find him worthy-- he sighed. It didn’t matter.

Some events managed to stir a little of his interest. He listened with surprise to Varric’s tale of nobles taking arm against templars, building a resistance to Meredith’s rule. He listened with slightly more interest to the story of a meeting of templars and mages, which seemed to bode well for future cooperation, but went sour when Hawke arrived. It led to another gathering, revealing a far worse conspiracy. Hearing how Varric had been held hostage by Grace; leading a group of mages, and practicing blood magic, had settled his resolve. People were getting desperate, and their efforts were failing.

But, it was overhearing Ser Karras in the Gallows courtyard, that finally set him in motion.

_“The Knight Commander has sent to Val Royeaux for the Rite of Annulment.”_

He’d nearly frozen on the spot. It was only years lived on the run that had kept his feet moving. There could be no further delay. It was time.

\-------------------------------

He cast his eyes at the elf sitting beside him, watching the fire. He tried to speak, several times, and failed. Tears threatened, continually. 

“Fenris....”

“Yes?”

He fidgeted, smoothing the feathers of his fine, black pauldrons. Robes Fenris had paid for, because he’d feared for Anders’ safety in his old ones. He was better to him than he deserved. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. 

“You know... if something were ever to happen to me... I’d want you to have anything of mine. All of it, none of it... whatever you’d like, it’s yours. But please, keep my mother’s pillow. I want you to have that.”

Fenris eyed him closely. “What do you expect will happen to you?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Things are getting scary. Things are coming to a head. I overheard Karras at the Gallows. He bragged Meredith has written Val Royeaux for the Rite of Annulment.”

“Annulment? She means to kill every mage in the Circle?”

“Yeah. She does.”

“What will that mean, for us?”

“I’m not sure. But, whatever happens, I don’t want you involved. Justice and I... he’ll still be here, you know. Long after you and I are gone. It doesn’t mean the same thing to a spirit. He’ll just go back to the Fade. If he doesn’t... if he stays in my body... do whatever feels right in your heart.”

Fenris sat forward, looking at him intently. “Why are you telling me this, Anders? What are you planning?”

“No matter what, you _must_ carry on. You _must_ stay safe from the Circle. They cannot have you, Fenris. They _can’t.”_

He cupped Fenris’ cheek in his hand. “You know how much you mean to me, don’t you? How much you’ve given me?”

“Tell me what’s happening. Why do you speak as though you are dying?”

He looked so worried, and Anders hadn’t meant to upset him. He just had to make sure he knew. 

“We’ll never know what the future really holds. Fenris....” he ended his sentence with a sigh; and pulled Fenris into a kiss. Fenris pulled away.

“Don’t distract me with this,” he said, roughly. “Talk to me.”

“This is the best way I know to express it,” he whispered. 

Fenris reluctantly let himself be drawn into another kiss. And another. Anders savored everything about him; the taste of his lips, the sound of his breath, the feel of his hair. This man made Anders’ life worth living and his death worth dying.

The kiss grew, and in spite of his worry, Fenris allowed himself to sink into it. Anders pulled him across his lap, and truly invested himself in their growing heat.

“Anders... tell me what has upset you....” the elf breathed.

“Right now, only that you’ve stopped our kiss.”

Fenris groaned in irritation, but continued the kiss. With guilty relief, Anders let himself fall into the wonder that was Fenris. In little time, armor and robes were falling away. He picked Fenris up, feeling his legs wrap about his waist, and carried him to the bed. 

He lay back, the elf still held to his chest, and resumed their kiss. He wanted the weight of Fenris on him; grounding him, shielding him from the future. His warmth and strength fortified him; convinced him no matter what happened to himself, Fenris would be alright. He would have the strength to bear it, and the heart to carry on. Tears threatened, and he pulled his tunic off to hide them, to wipe them dry as it passed over his head.

Fenris followed suit, stripping them bare with the skills training had forced upon him. Never again would he suffer such injustice. Fenris was free. He would live, and flourish, and perhaps, even find love once more. Maker knew, if anyone deserved it, he did.

Anders nearly sobbed, and cast his spell on himself. “Fill me, Fenris. Fill me with you... make us one.”

Both groaned as he slid within him. Yes... he’d known this with only Fenris. He was his first lover, and he would be his last. If he died tomorrow, or in a hundred years, there would never be another. No one else could make him feel this way. No one else could enter his body, and his soul, and share all they were, the way Fenris did.

They moved together, bodies attuned to one another. His hands traveled the elf’s flexing back, feeling his movement, his heat, his skin. He inhaled, the scent of him fueling his passion. He sucked his neck, the taste of him sweeter than honey.

“Fenris....” he breathed. A name, bestowed upon a pet, to become the signifier of so much more. Fenris was a friend like no other. Fenris brought he and Justice together in a harmony he’d never imagined. Fenris had taught him the pleasure of lovemaking. Fenris had been the reason both he and Justice reconciled with Neria. Fenris was the one who’d made his life complete.

And, Fenris would be kept safe, if Anders had to die doing it.

He gasped, pleasure overriding the pain in his heart. The slow thrusts made him keen, grasping the strong shoulders, wrapping his legs about the curling hips. Fenris bit his neck, and he shuddered. _Yes,_ he thought, _bite me... I will meet my fate with your mark upon my skin._

He sobbed, then. His body writhed in a confusing mix of grief and lust, as tears finally overflowed. 

“Fenris... I’m yours... you’re my heart... my soul... my light...”

His lips were captured in a kiss; Fenris thrusting harder and deeper. The kiss broke as Fenris gasped.

“I am yours, Anders... always.”

With a mournful cry, Anders crested his peak. Pleasure and pain shook him, as Fenris groaned, crushing him in his arms, hot spend filling his body.

Anders floated... blissful, timeless. 

Reality returned. Fenris, still within him, gently wiped away the tears tracking Anders’ face. His eyes were eloquent.

“Please tell me what hurts you,” he whispered.

“I... _can’t,_ Fenris. I’m sorry.”

“Then, know I stand by you,” he said.

“That’s what I’m afraid afraid of.”


	33. Apogee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' plan comes to fruition.

He should have pushed harder. He should have insisted on an explanation. He should have asked more questions. He should have _listened._

He’d had time to do it. He’d held him in his arms for two more nights, and not asked, not uncovered the secret Anders carried. _He should have pushed harder._

And, now it was too late. This was the culmination. He felt it. It was happening... whatever _it_ was. This was the moment, and there was no going back, and Fenris had never been more terrified. 

Anders had appeared out of nowhere, the argument between Meredith, Orsino, and Hawke in full force. Something in his demeanor... in his words... chilled Fenris.

“I will _not_ stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals, while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailers!”

True fear shot through him when, halfway through his next sentence, Justice made a clear, if rather calm, appearance.

“The Circle has failed us, Orsino; even _you_ should be able to see that. The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures.”

Fenris finally spoke. “Anders... what have you done?”

He wouldn’t meet his eyes. “There can be no turning back.”

And, all hell broke loose. With a thundering roar, light burst from the Chantry. In an eerily slow display, the entire, immense building was pulled into pieces, and shattered. Rubble was swept into a spiraling spire of energy, only to explode in a startling display of power. Debris fell, screams, dust, and madness filled the air.

Mouth agape with shock, Fenris turned to Anders. Almost apologetically, he murmured.

“There can be no peace.”

As those around him broke into cries and questions, Fenris understood. He didn’t know if he agreed, and it wasn’t the time to think morals. But, he knew what Anders had done, and why. Orsino did not, questioning his actions.

“I removed the chance of compromise,” Anders explained. “Because there _is_ no compromise.”

And, Meredith lunged for the opportunity presented. She called for the Annulment she’d wanted, there and now. And further, she demanded Hawke stand with her. Orsino defended the Circle. The man responsible hadn’t been a Circle mage, after all.

Fenris had to agree on that count. It made no sense to attack the Circle, when an apostate had done the deed. Not that they’d ever lay a hand on him, while Fenris drew breath. Sebastian’s words had him moving in front of Anders, as a shield. He felt Anders’ hand against his hip. He felt it was steady, felt it was strong. Anders had acted with conviction, and he did not fear the consequences. 

“Why are we debating the Rite of Annulment, when the monster who did this is right here? I swear to you, _I will kill him.”_

Anders was unmoved. He turned to Hawke. “It can’t be stopped now. You have to choose.”

Horrified, standing at Sebastian’s side, Hawke had trouble getting her words out. “Was that... why you needed me to distract the Grand Cleric?”

Sebastian looked at her in shock. “You... were part of this?”

Anders ignored the Brother, answering Hawke. “If you knew what I was doing, you would’ve felt honor-bound to stop me. I couldn’t take that chance. The Circle is an injustice, in many places beyond Kirkwall. _The world needs to see.”_

“Elthina was not the Circle,” Sebastian growled. “She was a good woman, and you _murdered her!”_

 _“You fool!”_ Orsino exclaimed. “You’ve doomed us all!”

With implacable conviction, Anders replied. “We were already doomed. A quick death now, or a slow one later. I’d rather die fighting.”

And then, Fenris watched in disbelief as chaos reigned. Hawke called Anders a murderer. She declared the blood of the dead on his hands. Meredith and Hawke argued. Their companions spoke out in disbelief, Sebastian demanded Anders held accountable. Before he knew it, Meredith commanded her templars to kill them all. 

They all fought. Mages died. Templars died. The first of countless more, he was sure. When it was over, the strength seemed to leave Anders, and he dropped to a crate, quietly awaiting his fate. Fenris knelt before him. Everything felt surreal, as though they were in the Fade.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to tell you, Fenris” he said. “But, what if you stopped me? Or worse, what if you wanted to help? I couldn’t let you do that.”

Anders reached out, brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I took a spirit into my soul, and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.”

Hawke appeared behind Anders. Fenris was thrown by the look on her face. She was hard, _angry,_ in a way he’d never seen. She didn’t bother looking Anders in the face, choosing to speak to the back of his head.

“Did that spirit tell you to do this?”

“No. I could no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could. The world needs to see this. Then we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution.”

“So you start a massacre, to prove a point?”

“I’m not proving a point. I’m changing a world. The people fear what mages can do. But, to use that fear to bludgeon us into submission is wrong. And, they do it with our blessing! And, if I pay for that with my life, then I pay. Perhaps, then Justice would at least be free.”

Then, she was asking their friends for their opinions. Fenris’ mind reeled. None of this could be happening. Hawke wouldn’t seriously consider killing Anders. No, she was putting on an act to appease Sebastian’s demand for blood. Even so, he had to get Anders to safety. He took his hand.

“Anders... come with me. We’ll leave the city....”

Hawke turned back. “The Grand Cleric deserves justice.”

“Yes,” Anders calmly replied. “I would not deny anyone’s right to that. The sooner I die, the sooner my name lives on to inspire generations.”

Fenris’ heart jumped into a panicked gallop. 

“Anders! This isn’t a game! Come with me,” he pleaded. “Come with me, now.”

He caressed Fenris’ cheek. “Forgive her.”

_“What--?”_

Anders jerked, eyes going wide. With a look of surprise, he slowly fell from the crate. Fenris caught him, cradling him in his arms. In horrified disbelief, he pulled Hawke’s dagger from his back. 

“Anders... heal yourself! _HEAL YOURSELF!_ No-no-no-no... _Anders..._ you need to heal yourself! _Please... don’t go... stay with me....”_

But, he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two more chapters.


	34. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice sets Fenris on a new path.

Fenris was lost. 

The world went on around him; voices... discussion... distant battle. It meant nothing, for he was lost, and would never be found.

He held all that had mattered in his arms. Still and lifeless, Anders was gone... and with him, any chance of hope or happiness.

“Fenris?” It was Hawke.

He resisted tearing out her heart, as she’d torn out his. Anders’ last words had asked him to forgive her. He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t._ She’d once been his friend. If not for her, he’d be dead, or a slave. But, she’d just taken the one thing he could not do without. He wouldn’t kill her, in honor of Anders’ final request. But, Hawke was dead to him. He had nothing to say to her.

He tuned-out the world, once more.

He heard the voices fade, knew his companions had left for a battle in which he had no interest. He gazed at the man in his arms. Fenris would never be the same, for having known him. And, he would never be the same, for having lost him. When Hawke put her knife in Anders’ back, she may as well have plunged it into Fenris’ heart.

He smoothed back the burnished-gold hair that was forever escaping its tie. He stroked the cheeks perpetually in need of a shave. He traced the lips that were never far from a smile, or a kiss. Already, they were cool to the touch. Anders had once brought him back to life. A life filled with friendship, affection, comfort. And, now it was gone. 

Terrible, excruciating pressure filled his chest, and burst forth. Fenris had never before wept, but now, he howled with grief. 

He didn’t know how to pray, but he wouldn’t have, even if he did. The Maker was no friend to either of them. He took, and took, and took. He wouldn’t give Anders back to him. Anders was gone, and Justice free--

 _“JUSTICE!”_ He shook Anders’ body. _“DAMN YOU, JUSTICE! YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!_ Why didn’t you save him? Why? _Why didn’t you save him?”_

Sounds of battle grew louder. He needed to get Anders’ body to safety. He would not allow it to be desecrated. He would take it home, and hold his own cremation. He’d pack their belongings, and Smudge, and burn the entire mansion down, as Anders’ pyre. And, perhaps throw himself on the flames, as well. 

Vision blurred with tears, he struggled to stand, Anders’ body in his arms. 

He was blinded by an explosion of light powerful enough to throw him across the plaza. Stunned by the impact, he staggered upright. Anders’ body floated in mid-air, surrounded by light. He approached cautiously, watching as it flowed over him, illuminating every finger, every strand of hair, every pore. Then, the light pulled in on itself, and coalesced into a figure. A figure in full armor, made of Fade light, standing beside Anders’ hovering form. 

He took Anders’ floating body in his arms. His voice was raw when he spoke.

“Justice?”

The figure nodded solemnly.

“You could have saved him,” he accused. 

A familiar, resonant voice replied. 

“You shall save him, elf who sings.”

 

_“I can’t.”_

 

“You will assist him in ways I cannot.”

“Don’t you understand? _He’s gone.”_

“It was an honor to share his soul. He is a being of singular passion and altruism.”

Fenris quietly wept at the unexpected eulogy. 

“Do not mourn,” the spirit said. “Justice has been served.”

There was a flash; and then, he was gone.

Fenris stood, trembling, cradling Anders’ body. 

A voice spoke his name. He spun around, finding no one. 

“Fenris?”

He spun again, still no one. 

Then, he looked down.

Amber eyes looked up at him. _Seeing eyes... living eyes._ He fell to his knees, breath leaving him.

 _“Anders... is it you?”_ He touched his face with a shaking hand.

“Who else would I be?”

Once again, Fenris wept. He buried his face against Anders’ breathing chest, and wept. Gentle hands stroked his hair, and he gave thanks; not to the Maker, but to a Fade spirit he’d once called a demon.

“Fenris, why are you crying?”

He looked up, taking in the sight of Anders’ confused face. He was filled with wonder, and joy; and the terror of having lost him. 

He stroked back the hair which had, again, escaped its tie; and the warm, living lips. “You’re alive. _You’re alive.”_

“I don’t understand... what’s happened?”

Sounds of battle distracted him. Fighting, both near and far. 

“We need to get you home. Can you walk?”

Barely. Returning from the dead was exhausting, Fenris knew. He sat Anders on the crate from which he’d fallen, taking a precious moment to think things through. They had to get out of Kirkwall. Anders was thought dead, and they would keep it that way. He’d need to keep him out of sight as they moved through town. For that matter, Fenris needed to stay out of sight, as well. He was too easily recognized, with his armor and tattoos. Any man seen with him might be suspected as Anders, once his body came up missing.

He looked about them, and a plan took shape. He began stripping two dead templars of their armor. 

Within moments, he and Anders were clad in templar armor. With some difficulty, he dressed the tallest of the two naked bodies in Anders’ robes. Still mildly confused, Anders objected.

“You bought those for me.”

“To protect you, Anders. And, this might be the best protection they’ll ever give you.”

With his sword, he hacked at the corpse. He obliterated its face, and saturated its hair. Looking as though an angry mage or templar had defiled his corpse, it would be impossible to identify the body wearing Anders’ robes as anybody but Anders.

He put their helms on, and took Anders’ arm across his shoulders. Struggling to keep his footing in the heavy boots, they began the journey to Hightown.

They ran into little trouble. Although mages and templars were fighting throughout the city, they managed to take most of their discreet passages without notice. Once in Hightown, there was less fighting, and more rescue work. The explosion’s radius was relatively narrow, with debris contained to the area immediately surrounding the Chantry. Templars and noble folk were everywhere, searching for injured, or seeking aide. Looking like two injured templars supporting one another, they drew no attention as they passed. Shortly, they slipped through the door of the mansion.

Anders whipped his helm off as soon as the door closed. “It reeks in here,” he gasped. “Get this templar crap off me.” 

Fenris helped him to the stairs to sit. “Soon enough. We’re getting out of here. Anders... Justice is gone, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know... I think so? I don’t feel him.”

“What do you remember?”

Anders frowned. “Fighting the templars.”

“Nothing after that?”

“N-no. Fenris... what happened?”

He didn’t know how Anders would react to hearing it all; especially without Justice calming his emotions. He’d suspected the spirit had left, after declaring justice served. And, there was a difference in Ander’s speech. Just as Neria noticed after their joining, Fenris now noticed after their separation. 

“Fenris... are you angry?”

“Angry? I’ve never been so relieved in my life.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t have time to explain. I want to get some food in you, while I pack our things."

While Anders ate some bread and shared cheese with Smudge, Fenris gathered their belongings. He packed judiciously, not wanting to make it appear he’d taken more of Anders’ things than momentos. He had to bring clothing for him, given he wore only his smalls inside the armor. Confused as he was, Anders was surprisingly pragmatic about abandoning most of his possessions. Running light was in his nature.

“A set of clothing, Mutti’s pillow, and Smudge. That’s all I need.”

“You wearing your lightning glass?”

“Always. Don’t forget your locket.”

“Already have it.”

Most of their packs were filled with travel food, and bedrolls. A single tent, in his pack; and room in Anders’ for Smudge. Fenris had no intention of leaving the cat behind. Without Justice, he might need it for more than companionship. Helms back in place, they made for the docks.

The docks were swarming with people, certain the city’s destruction was upon them. Fenris managed to bluff their way onto a boat headed for Gwaren, in Ferelden, without paying passage. They were now two templars, tracking an escaped blood mage; the captain doing his duty to the Chantry and Circle by taking them a day’s travel, headed east.

“But, there’s nothing, a day east,” the captain said. “We won’t make our scheduled port if we pull ashore.”

“No need to pull ashore,” Fenris intoned. “Drop us in a dinghy where we indicate. The Maker will guide us, from there.”

“Aye, Ser Templar. As you wish.”

They found a coil of rope on which to sit and wait a familiar landmark. As far out as the boat was from shore, he hoped they’d be able to correctly pinpoint their location. 

“I know Ferelden’s out of the question; I’m too well known, there,” Anders said. “But, we could have waited for a boat to Rivaini, or Orlais.”

“We needed to leave, _now._ I’m surprised the port’s not already closed, to prevent mages escaping. We’ll get to the cove, and make a plan. We can travel overland from there.”

“This armor stinks.”

“I know... incense and sword oil. How are you? Without Justice?”

Anders’ armor rattled as he shrugged. “I don’t really know. I feel a bit... fuzzy.”

Fenris nodded. It was strange, listening to Anders speak. He wasn’t as softly spoken as before. His accent was stronger, somewhat clipped. Yet, he still retained the familiar speech patterns and mannerisms he’d had before. 

He wanted to put his arm about him, to see his face, to touch him. The best he could do, in their ruse as templars, was feel him lean against his arm, bow his head as though in prayer, and sleep. Although he’d done well in following Fenris’ directions, and holding his questions, Anders was exhausted. It was just as well he slept. They couldn’t talk about the things that really needed said, on a boatload of passengers and crew. Fenris couldn’t begin to sort his feelings on the matter. All he felt was anxiety; the need to get them to safety, out of reach of any who might, against all his efforts, learn the truth of their departure. 

When enough time passed, they carefully assessed the distant shoreline. Finally, Fenris decided he saw familiar landmarks. Letting the ship sail well past the cove, he instructed they be set loose in a dinghy.

“This is wilderness, Ser Templar,” the captain said, as the sails were dropped.

 

_“This is our duty.”_

 

Awed by their sacrifice, the captain ordered supplies gleaned from the ship’s stores, and piled into the dinghy. The crew carefully lowered them down the side of the boat, and released the ropes.

Watching as sails were raised, and the ship moved on, Anders spoke. 

“Fenris, I don’t think I can help row this thing.”

“You don’t need to. We’re getting out and walking.”

“No need for sarcasm.”

“I’m serious. They’ve moved out of sight. Lose the armor.”

Stripping it off, they tossed it overboard, Anders sighing in exaggerated relief. Then, Fenris cast a spell. Jumping lightly from the boat, he stood on a narrow strip of thick ice now extending across the water. 

“This will do,” he said. 

“That’s brilliant!” Anders exclaimed. 

“Stay in the boat. You need rest.” 

Taking the mooring rope in hand, he pulled the boat along after him as he walked the path he’d created on the water. He recast the spell every so often, when the path came to an end, but it was far easier to walk this way, than try and row the distance to shore. 

Smudge appeared, skulking along the ice, sniffing the path, the sea water, the air. Glancing at the boat, he saw Anders curled on the bench, asleep. He’d pulled on trousers and tunic. That, and his boots, were all he had. No mage attire or staff had come with them.

The walk across the sea in the late afternoon sun gave him time to think back on events... to think back on the actions Anders had taken. To think back on the action Hawke had taken.

He agreed something had to change the situation in the Circle. He agreed more peaceful options had been ignored. He had little opinion on the destruction of the Chantry. True, innocents had likely died. Yet, innocents had been dying for years in the Circle, and more were going to die in the Annulment. Would Anders’ actions bring needed change? Fenris didn’t know. It would certainly draw attention, in a way nothing else had. 

Hawke... that was another matter. She had murdered Anders. Before his very eyes... indeed, in his very arms. Tears threatened. He fought to stave them off. If Anders saw him weeping, he’d want answers, and that was best done on dry land, in the safety of the cove. 

Yes, Anders had condoned her killing him. He was willing to be martyred. But, Fenris hadn’t been willing to lose him, for any reason. He would never forgive her. He’d spared her life, and owed nothing more.

By the time they’d doubled back to the cove, the sun was sinking below the horizon. Making camp was a simple affair. A ring of stones for a fire. The bedframe pulled from the cave on which to place their bedrolls, under the lightning-split tree. Water and travel cakes for supper. They sat on the bed, watching Smudge explore the beach; climbing trees and rocks, spraying those that appealed to him.

“He’s becoming a man,” Anders said proudly. “He’ll be chasing lady cats, soon.”

“Anders... about today....”

“You finally ready to talk about it?”

“I am.”

“Good. Because, I’ve been going insane, wanting to know.”

Fenris told him. As completely, and thoroughly as he could, he described the events that transpired after the templars had been defeated in Lowtown. Anders listened quietly, asking no questions. When he’d finished, he waited for Anders to speak. It took awhile, before he did; his voice soft in the darkness.

“Justice really said that?”

“Why are you surprised? He _should_ be honored. You _are_ a man of passion and altruism.”

“I don’t know. I rather had the impression he got the short end of the stick.”

“He did not share your impression. He valued you; as well he should have.”

“Apparently no one else did.”

“What?”

“No one argued against Hawke killing me.”

“You don't know that. There was much argument. I was too busy trying to talk you into leaving, to hear it.”

Anders shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I expected to die. All along, I knew I would. I just thought _someone_ might have cared. Varric, maybe. Or--”

 _“I cared!”_ Fenris interrupted. “I care so much, it chokes me, even now! _I watched you die, Anders._ I held you as you took your last breath. You were gone, and never coming back, and I don’t care how noble the reason. _You left me,_ and nothing will match that pain. _Ever.”_

And then, he was sobbing in Anders’ arms. For having never wept before today, it was coming easily to him. He couldn’t hold him tight enough. He was making ridiculous noises, and his face was contorting, and he didn’t care. He'd lost Anders today, and although he'd gotten him back, he still felt the awful, agonizing pain of it.

“I’m sorry, Fenris. I’m so sorry.” 

“You made _no_ attempt to save yourself! You looked me in the eye, and let her kill you. _You didn’t even try, Anders.”_

“Fenris... my death was justified. I deserved no less. _You have to see that.”_

“I do _not_ have to see that. I would never leave you, that way.”

He felt tears, not his own, wet his neck. “My light... I’m so, so sorry.”

He wept himself dry, and let Anders continue to hold him. He was rocked gently, fingers massaging into his hair. An image tickled to the surface of his memories; sitting on his mother’s lap, as a child, being rocked this same way. A memory he knew he wouldn’t have, if not for this man.

They finally crawled under their blankets, holding tight, and let exhaustion claim them.

For the next several days, they were both tender. Fenris still grieved. Anders was right here, alive and well, yet the pain of his death wracked him. He watched him constantly. It was as though he needed to convince himself Anders was alive. He couldn’t get close enough, or touch him enough, or hear him enough. 

He also grieved the loss of Hawke’s friendship. She’d destroyed it, yet prior to that fatal act, she’d been his friend, second only to Anders. He vacillated between anger and disbelief at the choice she’d made. Such conflicting emotion confused him.

Anders watched Fenris as much as Fenris watched him. Amber eyes followed him when he moved, gazing at him with the same confusion the elf felt. The half-grown cat divided it’s time between both their laps, providing each with the comfort of its purring warmth. Fenris was eternally grateful he’d gotten the kitten, seeing how it soothed both of them. Even so, Anders seemed lost. 

“What are you thinking?” Fenris asked, as they sat on their bed. They had done little other than sit, pet Smudge, or sleep curled about each other. The usual delights of the cove held no interest. 

“Nothing in particular. It’s just... hard to think, by myself.”

“You miss Justice.”

“Not exactly. I'm glad he's gone home. But, I’ve grown so used to his presence, it’s strange to have only my thoughts rattling in my brain.” 

Those rattling thoughts seemed focused on what had happened, and what was currently happening, in Kirkwall. He repeatedly asked Fenris to repeat the events of which he had no memory. Or, asked him to speculate on what was happening in the city, now.

“Does it matter what’s happening?” Fenris finally asked. “Knowing won’t change anything. What’s done is done.”

“You think I did the wrong thing, don’t you?”

“I don’t judge you for it. You paid for your actions with your life.”

“How can you not care what’s happening? It may be a whole new world, for mages.”

“Or, it may be a worldwide Annulment. If Meredith defeated Hawke, who knows what tale she’ll tell.”

“You think I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You’re spinning, Anders. I do not judge you for your actions. I just don’t wish to think about Kirkwall, or whether Hawke and our companions lived or died, or what the state of the world is.”

“You don’t care if your friends are alive, or not?”

“Yes... I care. That is why I don’t wish to think about it. We may never know, and that does not sit well with me.” He paused. “What do you mean, _my friends?_ Are they not your friends, as well?”

“I don’t know. Neither of us knows if they argued against Hawke.”

“Does it matter? You were willing to die.”

“That’s not the same as a friend _wanting_ me to die. It’s bad enough Hawke did.”

“You... have a point.”

“Do you at least believe _something_ had to be done?”

“Yes, I do. I have no doubt, if Val Royeaux denied the Annulment, Meredith would have conjured a reason to go ahead with it.”

Anders nodded. “People were going to die, either way. It could be a tragedy; or it could be a revolution.”

“I prefer revolution.”

“So, you agree with what I did?”

“Turning a slaughter into a fight? Of course, I agree with that. Anders... do you regret what you’ve done? You seem to be second-guessing yourself.”

“No. I saw no other option, then or now. But, Justice was very supportive. He bolstered my resolve. Now, he’s gone... I’m not sure of my own thoughts.”

“It’ll get better.”

“That’s a bold statement. It may well get _worse,_ without him to manage my moods.”

“I don’t want you worried about it, Anders. You’ll be fine.”

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m not _worried_ about it. I am what I am, and I’m coming to accept that. I just think it warrants consideration.”

“If your moods become erratic, we’ll deal with it. You’ve got Smudge, and me, and... we’ll figure it out.”

“You might decide I’m not worth the trouble.”

Fenris pulled him close, and whispered into his ear. 

“You have been trouble since the day I first lay eyes on you. And, I can’t get enough of it.”

They weren’t in a rush to leave the cove. They had food enough for the time being. And, they’d decided they had four or five weeks before anyone in Kirkwall would look into the strange story of two templars who’d been dropped in the middle of the sea. If anyone decided to look into it.

By their reckoning, it was two weeks sailing to Gwaren, and--if the ship that dropped them off made a direct return to Kirkwall--two weeks back. At which point, their fate rested on a long series of IF’s. IF the captain told a story of two templars debarking in the middle of the sea; and IF their companions lived, and IF they heard the captain’s tale; and IF they suspected Anders was not dead... they might decide to investigate.

The odds were slim, but they didn’t intend to remain here, in any case. Once their heads were on straight, Fenris would build a staircase of ice up the sheer cliff wall to the interior, and they’d begin a hike across the Free Marches toward Antiva. Whether they stayed in Antiva, hadn’t been decided. It was a neutral country, with vast numbers of traders coming and going. It would be easy to lose themselves there. 

There was also the option of Rivain, just beyond. Famous for relative chaos, it might be easier to disappear into its depths. The Rivaini people still honored hedgewitch seers; which meant they were less wary of free mages. But, there was also a strong Qunari presence in the country, and no mage wanted to be taken captive by Qunari. 

Regardless, for the time being, they were content to while away a few weeks, wrapping their heads around all that happened, and all that still might. The first evening Anders held out a hand to lead Fenris into the water, he knew they were on the way to normalcy... whatever that may be. The warm swim under the moons and stars had a healing quality to it. A revival, or rebirth. 

They floated on their backs, gazing into the night sky, as they had so many times.

“You realize, we’ve both recovered from death and resurrection, in this cove,” Anders pointed out.

“You realize, Justice had a hand in both our resurrections.”

“Not bad for a demon, eh?”

“Indeed, not. You know... your voice is different, since he left.”

“You’re joking. _Maker’s breath._ How different?”

“Enough it’s notable.”

Something else notable to the elf was a new dream to add to his nightly terrors. He relived variations of Anders’ death, over and over. Variations of his resurrections, as well, in which he arose a possessed corpse. 

He awoke with gasps, reaching for Anders. He would feel for his heartbeat, his breath, to reassure himself it had been a dream. 

“‘S’ok... ‘m right here....” his sleepy voice would drawl, always knowing what brought him shaking into his arms. “‘S’ok, Fenris.”

Fenris would lie awake, gazing at him. Whispering his fingers over his face, feeling the life in him. 

Tonight was quiet, the usual breeze died down. In the tree above, Smudge lay in his favorite spot; stretched along a branch high above them, all four legs dangling down. The larger moon, from which Anders speculated the Qunari and High Dragons came, held reign over the sky. 

He traced the lips he so adored. Warm, gentle, achingly familiar. He carefully leaned forward, and ghosted his own against them. Anders’ lips responded, even before his eyes opened. And, they continued responding.

Quietly, carefully, they touched one another. They’d touched and embraced, constantly, since arriving. But, this was the first time ardor had entered the picture. It was almost with reverence, that their hands and lips explored. 

_“Fenris,”_ Anders whispered, his name a prayer. 

 

_“I am yours.”_

 

With endless patience, he explored what was well-known. The taste of his mouth, and delectable upper lip. The feathery hair of his chest and belly. The soft skin in the hollows of his hipbones. The lean strength of his thighs. The hot, heavy length of him, jutting against Fenris‘ stomach. 

Wordlessly, their hands traveled their bodies. Anders‘ gasps and sighs were unchanged by his vocal alteration. Familiar and stirring, Fenris brought as many from him as he possibly could. Touching him as he liked best, he delighted in every tremor and flutter he caused. And, Anders did the same.

When he felt the whorl of flesh at his entrance caressed, he shivered, nodding. A flash of magic, and he was lubricated, relaxed, eagerly awaiting the touch within. He wasn’t sure who moaned most needfully, as he was breached by talented fingers. He remembered the first time he’d guided Anders in this pursuit. So much, they’d shared and learned, together. 

Neck arching, he gasped as his pleasure center was stroked. Before Anders, no one had given him this kind of pleasure. He’d been touched, and taken, but never with joy. Never with adoration. 

Lips glided down his chest and belly, to take his weeping erection, and consume him. Groans escaped him on gasping breaths. Groans answered him, vibrating along the sensitive shaft. Clenching his fingers in the tousled, golden hair, he couldn’t help the thrusting of his hips. 

Anders took him close to the edge, fingers and mouth drawing excruciating delight from his flesh. Then... Anders’ hips slid between his quivering thighs. Anders’ arms slid under his shoulders. Anders‘ cock slowly... so slowly... slid within his body.

Shuddering breath escaped him. His legs rose, to deepen the penetration, and wrapped around the flexing back. Languorous thrusts filled him, again... and again. Anders’ forehead pressed against his, open mouth gasping, fingers curled in his hair.

It was a rapid ascent, eager to be joined in euphoria, need consumed them. A rising tide of sensation, unstoppable, incomparable, uncontrollable... taking him higher... higher....

A harsh cry rang from his throat, as he shattered in Anders’ arms. 

Languor left, as Anders chased his own rapture with deep, powerful thrusts. Keening, clutching, he immersed himself in Fenris, and found what he sought. 

Strong... vigorous... alive... he quaked with completion, voice raw in its desperate release. It was stunning.

And, then they were limp in one another’s embrace, breath rasping in their ears. Anders spoke a whisper of familiar words.

“Fenris... you have unmade me... and created me anew.”

His own voice cracked as he replied. 

“You dwell within my very being.”

 

_“... my light....”_

 

_“... my soul....”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I am forgiven. <3 
> 
> But, ya know... angst is sorta my thing. I'm not right in the head, that way. ;-) Not that there's anything wrong with that. <333
> 
> *There is one more chapter.*


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Anders' own voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter.

In retrospect, we should have expected it. 

But in all fairness, neither of us was thinking clearly, at the time.

The best intentions can still bite you on the ass. Mutti said that. Who knew it would prove to be such an omen?

And, of course it happened while we were naked.

After a couple weeks, we’d decided it was time to leave. But, had stayed just a few more days, since it was the last time we’d be there. Even Smudge loved it there. One, huge sandbox; with plenty to chase, and explore, and climb. I love that cat. He’s just so smart, and funny, and you know? He actually displays characteristics of all our friends. Former friends... whatever. We don’t really know. Anyway....

He’s small; stout, like a dwarf. He’s dark, like a Rivaini. He’s fearless, like a guard captain. He’s graceful, like the Dalish. He’s smart, like Fenris. Originally, Fenris said he was affectionate, like me. Then, Smudge puked up a hairball on his side of the bed, and he changed it to: vomitous like me. Which made me laugh for the first time since our arrival, so damned if I’m not glad I puked all over Fenris, so long ago. 

We had plenty of time to assess and evaluate our feline companion. He was our major entertainment, after all. Watching him chase dragonflies, climb trees, or lay on our laps rumbling with his nearly silent purr. He’d even taken to swimming, this time making Fenris laugh for the first time since we’d arrived. A glorious, beautiful sound, that healed all manner of pains within me. 

Frustrated with standing on the shore, yowling, when we left him to go in the water, Smudge had summoned his courage, and tiptoed in. Of course, neither of us saw him coming, until he’d clawed his way up my back to my shoulder. Then, he’d clung, every little dagger of a claw digging in for purchase. That’s when Fenris laughed; and called Smudge a selkie. Until the kitten leapt from my shoulder to his, and he was treated to the full wet-feline experience. 

I didn’t tell Fenris how much it reminded me of the time he’d returned to life in my arms, and scaled me like a tree, just as Smudge had; eyes huge, and clinging for dear life. Dear life... that’s what it had been. The dearest life I’ve ever held in my hands.

But, I digress.

We just wanted a few more days, to enjoy the water, the sun, and each other. Mostly, each other. Our lovemaking was endless. A continual affirmation of life. A continual buffer against the pain of memories. So many memories. So damned many shitty, painful memories carried between us. We could hardly carry on a conversation without one or the other’s eyes taking on that sorrowful shadow of the past intruding on the present. Not always for long, not always bad, and rarely commented upon... but, still there. 

It was the most recent of pains that floated in Fenris’ eyes. As though he didn’t have enough, with all he’d already suffered. As though the Maker hadn’t already made a point of crapping all over this man’s life, He just kept it coming. But really, this one was on me. And, it killed me to know it.

No, what killed me had been Hawke. She’d put a dagger in my back, and I’d let her. It’s true, I was ready to die for what I’d done. My only regret, out of so many potential regrets, was the pain I caused Fenris. My light. My soul. I broke his heart, and I will never forgive myself that.

And, he will never forgive Hawke. And, it hurts him, I know it does. It hurts me, too. They were friends, and I drove them apart, in a way. She was my friend, too. I suppose I could hate her for killing me, but I don’t. 

But, I digress.

It had been after one of our many passionate affirmations, that it happened. Lying wrapped in one another’s arms, dozing in a comfort like no other, I felt a tickle on my nose. Smudge, I’d thought. He objected to our daytime sexual adventures, because we wouldn’t let him join in the play. Coitus interruptus via claws in the back, or balls, or a cat lying on your head is a habit you want to break. Anyway, I assumed it was Smudge, patting my nose with his paw. I brushed him away, but he kept at it. 

Before I could open my eyes, magical energy exploded around me, and voices were swearing as loud thuds hit the ground at some distance. Jolting awake, I found Fenris half sitting, arm out, and two familiar faces scowling, asses in the sand halfway across the beach.

Varric and Isabela.

Oh, shit. Actually, I said it aloud.

“Oh... shit.”

“Not one move,” Fenris growled. His expression was part fury, part fear. He was holding me down, acting as my shield. Both of us were naked, but he was a force to contend with in any state. 

Varric sat where he was, sweaty and covered in sand, and I knew that had to irritate the hell out of him. “Broody, hold up... we come in peace.”

Isabela, damn her, was eyeing us both like candy. Playful, as always; it had been she tickling my nose, to wake me. 

I tried to hide Fenris from prying eyes, remembering he’d objected to being nude in front of others. And, he tried to stay in front of me as a shield, and it ended up a ridiculous wrestling match to protect each other. Varric burst into laughter, and Isabela was egging us on, and then Smudge decided he was getting in on it, and dropped claws-first from his tree branch onto my back. I was screeching and leaping off the cot, Fenris trying to follow, and we both fell into the sand as gracelessly as possible. There was nothing remotely dignified or defensive about it, and I’m damned glad they had come in peace, because for a moment there, we were just bare asses and swinging dicks, both our hides presenting clear targets.

At Fenris’ insistence, they both set aside their weapons, and we put on pants, and Varric began to speak. He told us of the battle, and the aftermath, and how they’d come to find us, curled like kittens in the warmth of the cove. It took a while to sink in. They gave us that while. I needed it, more than Fenris. I’ve had trouble staying focused, just recently. I was easily distracted by tangental thoughts, and chased after minutia like Smudge after a dragonfly. Probably, it would be a variable challenge. From what Neria told Fenris, it came and went, before. After all, it hadn’t been present when we arrived. First, Fenris noticed. Then, I noticed. Now, we both know, and we work on it, together. 

He doesn’t mind my flights of fancy, he says. He enjoys my ingenuity, and leaps of logic. It’s not so bad, really. And, it’s kind of familiar. Experiencing it, I remember it from before. At the Circle, it had been so much worse. With the Wardens... better than the Circle, worse than this. I sleep better than I did then, anyway. Smudge helps; something about sitting and stroking his fur, feeling his purr, calms my mind. And, when I level-out enough to focus, Fenris says he’ll teach me mind-calming meditations. Meditation he learned during his training at the hands of that sick fuck, Danarius. I hate that he will use anything learned from him. Fenris says most of what he knows was learned at his heel, and he’d rather use it to help me, and redeem it in that way, than try to expunge it through repression. He’s wise... so wise. So devoted. 

But, I digress.

Varric said Hawke fought to defend the mages. They all did. Except us. Though it could be said, we gave the most in their defense. Orsino went bad, and became a horrendous creature, that attacked them all. They killed it, only to find Meredith, as I’d maintained all along, was mad. Truly, verifiably mad. She possessed the red lyrium idol, and forged it into a blade of insane power. In the end, even the templars under her command were forced to take Hawke’s side, and battle to defeat the delusional bitch. Varric said the lyrium consumed her, and she’s now a human statue, glowing in the Gallows courtyard. 

“She’d written for the Rite of Annulment, before the Chantry explosion, you realize,” Fenris said.

Varric was shocked. “No shit. Blondie, you were right about her all along, weren’t you?”

And, though I hated to give that bitch any credit at all, I reminded him of the red lyrium. 

“I suppose,” Varric said, doubtfully. “And, I gotta admit, that’s partly on me. Me and Bartrand, for bringing the cursed thing to the surface. Even so, you saw her for what she was. Now, everyone sees her for what she was.”

“Why are you here, Varric?” Fenris asked, hand tight around my wrist. “We will not return with you.”

“Return? Oh, no. Everyone thinks Blondie’s dead. He comes back, there won’t be a trial. He’ll be executed on sight.”

“Which is why we’re here, boys,” Isabela said. “To tell you to stay gone. And, a few other things.”

“How did you know to look, if everyone thinks I’m dead?”

“Come on,” Varric said, disbelieving. “You did a decent enough job covering your tracks... for amateurs. For Rivaini and me, it was child’s play.”

“The mutilated body in Anders’ robes was good,” she said. “Nobody questioned it. Sebastian had the false-Anders cremated immediately, fearing Justice would rise in your corpse. So, that was good. But, you forgot one detail.”

We exchanged a glance. “What?”

“The naked templar whose armor you commandeered,” Varric reminded them. “Broody, alone, wouldn’t need a disguise to leave. He wasn’t wanted for anything. Unless he was trying to smuggle someone out of the city, and didn’t want to be recognized. Which would call for two sets of armor. Which meant, the mutilated body in Blondie’s robes, wasn’t Blondie at all, but a second templar relieved of his armor. We checked the mansion, saw you’d taken both your packs; which confirmed two people were leaving. And, we saw Blondie take a blade in the back. If he was alive and walking, he was walking slow. So, we figured you weren’t hiking out of the city. Cullen ordered the port closed as soon as order was restored in the Gallows, which made narrowing down which ship you’d taken, a lot easier.”

“Two ships, one without passengers, and one heading to Ferelden, got out before the closure,” Isabela said. “If you were disguised as templars, we figure you didn’t bother stowing away. You just walked right on board, in your borrowed armor. But, neither of us imagined you’d head to Ferelden. Anders is known there, and his name’s already on everybody’s lips. We know this cove means something to both of you. We gambled you’d managed to debark here. Soon as things calmed down a bit, we headed out to find you. And, our theories were right.”

That’s where we had to let it sink in. Then, we told of our journey here, and debarking the ship in the middle of the sea. 

“Once again, pretty damn good, for amateurs.”

“What’s happening, now? In the city?”

“Chaos, Blondie, and I don’t thank you for that.” 

For days skirmishes had broken out all over the city. Rescue efforts have stopped by now, and turned to recovery. Rogue mages, rogue templars, all running amuck, and scaring the daylights out of the populace. Boats are constantly searched, but templars are chasing after ghosts, anyway; heading out on any ship too scared to throw them off. Hawke was making major efforts, assisted by Knight Captain Cullen, in returning order to the city. Cullen gathered the remaining templars, and protected the loyalist mages who remained. 

“They actually stayed in the Circle,” I said with wonder.

“Frankly, it’s better than what’s awaiting them outside, right now.”

“Is this what you’d hoped?” Fenris asked him, softly.

“I... didn’t think much past the explosion. Revolution isn’t peaceful. Change isn’t pretty.”

“Well, I told Hawke, and I’ll tell you,” Isabela said. “It was a bold plan. I liked it.”

I felt a surge of appreciation toward her. “Would you like me to do that electricity trick?”

Before she could reply, Fenris grabbed both my hands. “No, she would not.”

Varric hesitated. “Look. I know you’ve been shouting to the heavens for years, Blondie, with no one listening. I know how you tried peaceful avenues. And, with the threat of Annulment, I can even see why you did what you did. But, dammit... Kirkwall’s my home. And, you blew a hole in the middle of it!”

“Kirkwall had a hole in it already, Varric. The Gallows was a deep pit of despair.”

“Yeah... I guess so. And, for what it’s worth, I didn’t want what happened to you. None of us did, not really. Except Choir Boy.”

“Hawke wanted him dead,” Fenris growled.

“No, Broody, she really didn’t. She’s been broken up about it since the battle. She believed it had to happen... but she didn’t want it to. And Blondie, I know you were willing to pay for your actions, but damn. Watching Hawke put a knife in you--” he broke off, uncharacteristically emotional. Maybe it’s wrong, but seeing him so upset made me feel so much better.

“While we’re on the subject,” Isabela said, “why has no one mentioned the fact Anders is walking and talking, like he didn’t take a killing blow before our very eyes?”

“Good point, Rivaini. Where’s the knife wound? Why are you... you know?”

“Alive? Justice. He... brought me back. And, then left.”

“Ohhhh... is that what happened to your voice, then?” Isabela asked.

“You have got to be shitting me!” Varric lamented. “Why is the best stuff, always the stuff I can’t use?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve got to tell a story, Blondie. And if my story’s the official story, it can save your ass. So, you’ve got to stay dead, like everybody already thinks. I just need to tie up your loose ends.” 

“What loose ends?” Fenris asked. “The templar in Anders’ robes has been cremated.”

“True, but if you think a boatload of passengers and sailors isn’t going to talk about dumping two templars into the Waking Sea, you’re crazy,” Isabella said.

“Right. So, we’ll go back to Kirkwall, saying we were looking for Broody at the cove; just worried about our friend. And, while we didn’t find him, we did find two templars, dead on the beach.”

“Of what?” I asked. “Don’t say magic, Hawke or Sebastian might blame it on Fenris.”

“Nah, something mundane. Boring. Easily forgotten.”

“Bear attack,” Isabela said. 

“Perfect. Believable, but not worth investigating. We found ‘em, burned ‘em, and came home. That way, when rumors fly about templars jumping ship after the battle, the mystery’s already been solved.”

I was thrilled. Not only did our ruse work... to a point... but my friends had been sad to see me die. Silly perhaps, but it meant a lot, knowing I’d meant something, to somebody. Perhaps that wasn’t fair. I’d once meant the world to my parents. I’d once meant something to Karl. I’d once been important to Neria. And now, I meant something to Fenris. A lot of something. He didn’t have to leave Kirkwall. He could have remained, and lived a life of relative comfort. But, he chose to leave it behind, to go on the run with me. No one had ever cared so much.

I had never cared so much, either. I’d loved Karl, truly and dearly. But, what Fenris and I shared went beyond even that. We were reflections of each other. We’d both suffered, on opposite sides of the same fence. We’d suffered, and struggled, and fought alone. Until we met Hawke, and we found others to fight with us. I knew Fenris was angry at Hawke, and might never forgive her. He’d learned not to forgive, nor to forget, and I didn’t blame him. But, I didn’t blame Hawke, either. She’d been my greatest ally, and I couldn’t have accomplished any of what I’d done in the past seven years, without her. Perhaps that’s why she was so upset. Perhaps she felt I’d betrayed her. And, perhaps I did. Regardless, she did nothing I didn’t want her to, and I’m so glad I’d found the wherewithal to ask Fenris to forgive her. He said if I hadn’t, he’d have killed her. And, he didn’t need that in his memories, anymore than he needed so much else. 

But, I digress.

Varric and Isabela had brought us news, understanding, a cover-story... and more.

“We brought you travel provisions,” Isabela said. “Food, and some clothes for Anders. And, maps of the Marches, Antiva, and Rivain.”

“I’ve got some names for you, too,” Varric said. “Contacts I have through the merchants’ guild. Dwarves mostly, which is good, because they don’t have much interest in a Chantry blowing up, either way. You need supplies, or a night’s refuge, mention my name, and they’ll give it.”

Isabela added, “I don’t have much in the way of contacts in Rivain, anymore, but there are miles of uninhabited beaches, where a resourceful pair could live in relative obscurity. I’ve marked likely places on the map.”

“If you need anything, you get in touch with me,” Varric said. “Go through any dwarven merchant’s guild. I just need to know what names you’ll use, to keep it under wraps.”

I was nearly bowled over by their generosity, and could see Fenris was, too. I shrugged.

“Frederick, seems good as any.”

Fenris smirked. “Freeman.” His grip slid from my wrist, to my hand. “After all, an apostate’s just a free man.”

They stayed the night with us, and talked of old times, to bring laughter to a sad time. For, although they had brought us friendship, and aide, and hope for a future, this was likely the last time we’d see them. So, we laughed, and played cards, and the next morning, they filled our packs with supplies, and maps, and a Diamondback deck. 

And it hurt, and I cried, and Isabela hugged me, and there was nothing lewd about it, and with her dark hair in my face, I could almost imagine it was my mother, and I cried all the more. Varric looked suspiciously red-eyed, as he put a pouch full of coin in Fenris’ hand. 

And, then... they were gone.

We watched their boat sail away, taking our last connection with our former lives with it. 

“There goes our past,” I said.

“We still have our present,” Fenris said. “And, with help from our friends, a future.”

“How do you stay so positive?”

“I learned it from this mage I knew. Name was Anders. He taught me about possibilities. He showed me darkness is just another side of light.”

I looked at him, heart fluttering, and asked, “What happened to this Anders?”

“He died a noble death of sacrifice, for those who suffered unjustly.”

“Huh. Sounds like a real wanker.”

“Oh, you knew him?”

We laughed. Laughed in the sunlight and warmth where it all began.

And, when the light of my life kissed me with his smiling lips; I knew my past, present, and future were all right here, in my arms. 

And, would never leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, there you have it. :-)
> 
> I can't thank you enough for your support and kudos and comments! It's the stuff that makes writing worthwhile. <3
> 
> Again, special thanks to Andrastesknickerweasle, dreadpiratefluffy, and InquisitorLavellan88 for their help. It may not have been published, without you!
> 
> And, if you found yourself amused, intrigued, or interested in my Anders' family headcanon, feel free to explore it extensively in its story of origin, My Better Half (here on AO3). ;-)
> 
> (Oh, yeah... Anders made reference to the name Frederick a couple times in Awakenings. So, that's why he chose it as his code-name, in this chapter).


End file.
